


Slices of Orange

by shinigami_yumi



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Candy, Cat & Dog Biology, Complete, Cooking, Fluff and Angst, Food, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mentions of Racism, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami_yumi/pseuds/shinigami_yumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://sastiel-bigbang.livejournal.com">Sastiel Big Bang</a> 2014's Mini Bang Route:</p><p>In a world where humans have either some canine or feline traits, war has divided the Konu and Chatri for centuries. When Jared, a confectioner in the Konu city of Chi'an, offers a homeless man food and shelter on a stormy night, the last thing he expects is to discover that Misha is Chatri. Realizing they are not so different, Jared allows Misha to stay for the winter, but Misha has a bigger secret, one that no amount of love can change.</p><p><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2389310%20">Art post</a> by <a href="http://castieltheflyingassbutt.tumblr.com">tomcat941</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to say a huge thank you to my artist, [tomcat941](http://castieltheflyingassbutt.tumblr.com), for the beautiful art despite the time constraints, as well as to my betas, [Meinarch](http://meinarch.tumblr.com) and [Elise](http://foxfireandfangs.tumblr.com) for making this a better fic. ♥ You are all amazing.

As one of the more popular candy stores in the city of Chi’an, JP Confections often sees a steady crowd, whether they’re here for the candy or to catch a glimpse of the owner. Jared Padalecki is proud of it. He loves candy, and there’s nothing quite like the sense of satisfaction he gets when a customer asks for more of the daily special. It’s homemade, and candy is really the only thing he knows how to make with any skill, so it always feels like he can do at least one thing right in the kitchen.

“I’m making burgers for dinner,” Gen is telling him over the phone as he juggles talking to her, ringing a customer up and keeping an eye on the children in the store.

“You’re the best.” He grins. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

They say their goodbyes and hang up as the next customer pays, and it’s a whole half an hour before the crowd thins out enough for him to catch a break. It’s almost closing time, so he starts packing up and cleaning what he can as the remaining customers slowly trickle out. He’s tallying up the day’s sales when someone comes up to the counter.

He looks up. The man has green eyes that look almost gray under the brim of his hat and a long coat despite it only being the end of summer. They’re alone in the shop.

“Hey, my lucky last customer for the night,” he greets cheerfully. “What can I get you?”

“Are you… Jared Padalecki?” His name sounds odd on the man’s lips, unfamiliar. “The owner of this shop?”

“Yeah. That’s me. Why?”

The stranger looks around surreptitiously, as if making sure that they’re still alone, then lifts the front of his hat.

Jared forgets to breathe.

He never thought he’d see ears like those again, the feline ears of a Chatri.

“It’s Misha,” the man answers quietly, and Jared’s heart skips a beat.

“Misha,” he echoes, standing. It has been five years since then. Five years with no news, of only praying that Misha was safe and happy, five years of thinking he’d never hear that name again. “Misha,” he repeats softly. Five years and an amazing girlfriend, and even now, the name gives him pause, makes him rethink that engagement ring he just ordered. It’s not fair, he tells himself, but he’d never missed the other any less. They made a promise once, and he only wishes he had to power to do more. “Tell me,” he pleads. “Where is he?” 

The Chatri nods, letting his hat drop to cover his furry gray ears. “He wants to see you.”


	2. Chapter 1: Orange Flower Marshmallows

_~Five years earlier~_  
Rain pours over the city of Chi'an, lightning illuminating the night sky and wind howling loudly through the streets. Jared scratches his neck, restless, and looks balefully out the window — he doesn't want to go out into the deluge.

It’s _his_ shop though.

Sighing, he grabs his raincoat and umbrella, locks his apartment behind him and heads down the stairs. Closing is in a few hours — he can do this. Water assaults him as soon as he opens the door, and he’s glad for both the coat and the boots as he fumbles to keep his umbrella up while locking the building door.

Finally succeeding, he sets off towards his candy shop.

"Hey."

He turns. Someone slightly shorter than him in a long hoodie is holding out his keys.

"You dropped this." It’s a nice voice, masculine, not very deep.

“Oh. Wow, that was careless of me. Thanks.” He takes them, their fingers brushing, and the other’s skin is cold. The stranger’s clothes are soaked through, like he’s been out in the rain for hours. As he turns to leave, “Wait,” Jared finds himself saying.

The other stops, tense. “Y—yes?”

Jared isn’t sure what good it will do now, but “Why don’t you take this umbrella?” he offers, holding it out. “I’ll get another one from upstairs.”

The stranger hesitates, but then takes it. “Thank you.” He even walks Jared back to his building’s door, and in their proximity, Jared can’t help noticing he smells different somehow. “I’ll return it when the rain stops.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Jared says quickly as he unlocks the door. “Don’t worry about it. I have a few. Keep it and hurry on indoors. Really.”

In the light from the hallway, he sees the ghost of a bitter smile on pale lips before he turns to jog up the stairs.

“Okay.”

It’s still raining when Jared’s done closing up. Sales were dismal, but he can’t imagine anyone wanting to go out in this storm, not even to cheer themselves up with candy. He doesn’t even feel up to grabbing dinner. There are frozen burritos at home. They’ll do for tonight.

He turns onto his street and walks up to his building door. He's trying to juggle between holding the umbrella and singling out the right key when he spots it.

He's quite sure that's the umbrella he gave away earlier lying open under an awning six doors down — it's faded in all the right places.

Surely the man hadn't just left it, remembering the wrong door?

He walks over, intending to retrieve it until he catches sight of the person huddled beneath. It’s the stranger from earlier, still in the same sodden outfit, looking miserable and cold.

“Y—you haven’t been waiting here for me, have you?”

The other looks up, water dripping off his scruffy chin. “No, just for the rain to stop.”

“Why don’t you come in?” he offers, extending his hand to help the man up. No one would be out here if they had anywhere else to go, and if this homeless man bore any ill intention, he wouldn’t have returned Jared’s keys earlier. “Dry off and warm up before you catch a cold?”

The other hesitates, curling into himself. He looks… afraid.

“I was just going to make a salad and microwave some frozen burritos for dinner,” he continues, hoping the prospect of food will sway the man. “I hope you don’t mind.”

The stranger seems to debate this for several moments, then takes his hand and rises in a graceful motion. “It is meager to you, but I couldn’t possibly mind my first meal in days,” the other answers, picking up the umbrella.

“Days? How are you alive?” Jared mumbles as they walk back to his apartment. His footfalls seem overly loud compared to the other’s silent gait as they climb the stairs, and when he steps aside after opening the door to hang his coat up and let the stranger in, he finally gets a clear look at tattered clothes and shoes.

Bau, the man must be freezing.

He kicks his shoes off, walks to the bathroom, switches the light on and beckons. “Why don’t you get out of those wet things and take a warm shower? Towels are in the cabinet under the sink. You can use whatever you need. Oh, and uh…” He hurries towards his room as the man removes his own shoes. “Let me get you some clothes you can borrow!” He rummages in his cupboard before running back with a pair of shorts and a pullover. “Here, I hope these will fit. I don’t have anything smaller.”

“Thank you.” His guest takes the offered clothing and steps into the bathroom. “I… don’t suppose I could borrow some socks?”

“Oh, of course.” He darts back into his room and grabs a random pair from its drawer. “Here.” He places it atop the bundle in the other’s hands. “I’m Jared, by the way,” he adds in the awkward silence as his guest is closing the bathroom door.

Just before the door clicks shut, he hears, “Misha.”

Jared is putting the burritos in the microwave when Misha emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his head. In the light, Jared sees his guest’s skin is lightly tanned, and the bluest eyes peer out of a round face framed by dark brown scruff. The borrowed clothes hang loosely on him — he has to roll up the sleeves, and even the socks are too big. With a few pounds and some proper rest, though, Jared thinks Misha would be quite attractive.

The salad is done with two bottles of dressing to choose from, and he has two kinds of salsa for the burritos. There’s some smoked salmon left from yesterday, so he has them in strips over the salad along with two hard-boiled eggs for a little more protein. Misha hasn’t properly eaten in days after all, and it doesn’t look like his frame was bulky to begin with.

“The burritos are almost done. Just have a seat right there.” He points to his dining table just outside the small kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Chocolate, coffee, milk, tea?”

“Tea. Please. If you don’t mind.” — Soft, stilted, and Misha still looks scared as he sits down.

Jared's never been much of a tea person, and he only has these peppermint and lavender tea bags that his ex, Sandra, left behind. He doesn't expect Misha will mind. He pops one in a mug, pours hot water over it and brings it over with the burritos. "Here. Please help yourself."

Misha watches him while scooping both types of salsa onto a burrito. When he only starts on the salad with some ranch dressing, Misha digs in with gusto. Jared can’t help smiling — it’s satisfying to see someone wolfing down food he prepared like it’s the best meal they’ve ever eaten for once, then humbling to think it may well be the reality. Guiltily, he wonders if Misha has been to a homeless shelter and found them all full. Maybe if Jared had contributed more all this time, Misha wouldn’t have been turned away tonight.

As his guest is taking a large helping of salad with raspberry vinaigrette, he adds, “I have cookies for dessert.”

“This is more than enough,” comes the quiet reply, but he still gets the box of cookies from the fridge when he finishes his burrito.

Between them, they finish the salad, and despite the earlier response, Misha follows his lead when he takes a white chocolate macadamia cookie, choosing an oatmeal raisin one.

“Do you usually hang around here?” He doesn’t know what to talk about, and he doesn’t want to pry, but the silence is making him so nervous, his ears are twitching.

Misha shakes his head, and Jared is wondering in the ensuing silence whether that really means “no” or merely “I don’t want to talk about it” when the other offers, “I was looking for my mother.”

“Oh, did you find her?” he asks, taking another cookie. “Do you need any help?”

His guest shakes his head again, looking more miserable than ever. “I found her. Sort of.”

 _Oh._ “Oh Bau. I’m so sorry.” His first instinct is to hug Misha, but he senses that it would be unwelcome, so he remains seated, ears flopping.

“...there was no way you could have known.”

Jared blinks. For a moment there, it seemed like Misha had intended to say something else.

“I should go when the rain stops.”

“It hasn’t.” He can hear the pattering outside loud and clear, and he can’t help wondering whether Misha is saying that to assure Jared he won’t be staying or because the conversation has taken a depressing turn he’d rather avoid. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

“N—not particularly,” the other replies, ineffectually disguising a shiver as a shrug, and Jared is on his feet instantly.

“If you were cold, you should’ve just said so!” He walks over to the electric fireplace and turns up the heat. The apartment isn’t very big, so it should warm up quickly. “Why don’t you bring your tea over here and warm up while I wash the dishes?” He indicates the cocoa-colored armchair by the fireplace with a blue woolen throw draped over the back. “You can use the blanket too.”

“No.” Misha stands. “Please let me help you clean up. You’ve alr—”

“No way! You’re a guest!” Jared insists, gently pushing Misha towards the fireplace. “And you don’t have to go, you know,” he adds softly as he starts stacking the plates they used. “Why not stay the night? No one should be out in this weather.”

“You don’t even know I’m not a criminal,” comes the quiet protest.

“You could have broken in with my keys instead of giving them back. You could have mugged me in the rain. You didn’t.”

“M—maybe I’m a rapist or a serial killer.”

He sets the dishes down in the sink and smiles at the humor in the other’s voice. Misha is looking at him with a twinkle in blue eyes that feels like a challenge, and he walks closer to meet it. “I’ll take my chances,” he murmurs, leaning down to inhale deeply of Misha’s unusual scent. It’s like nothing he’s ever smelled before, but “you don’t smell violent, and you can’t rape the willing,” he teases with a wink and giggle before backing away to start washing up. No, Misha smells of fear, like he’s terrified of Jared, and Jared only wishes he knew why. “I think you’re safe,” he adds, hoping it will be taken as both the conclusion and assurance it is.

His guest huffs a shaky laugh, takes another sip of tea. “Do you hit on everyone like this? Or only homeless strangers in your apartment?”

“Neither.” He turns back with a saucy grin, ears perking. “Only a special few.”

“So you’re saying I should be honored?”

“Nope. Only that you probably can't do anything untoward that would be unwelcome, so you should just make yourself at home.” The dishes are done, so he joins Misha in the living room. His guest is bundled in the blanket, damp towel still wrapped around his head. “Your hair is probably dry enough now, too. It won’t dry completely with the damp towel on.”

Misha flinches, curling into himself. Again, the inexplicable fear. “I like it,” he mumbles, looking down. “I find damp hair on my neck very uncomfortable.”

“Okay.” Maybe he should just give Misha some space. He stands and walks over to the door beside the bathroom. “This is the guest room,” he says, opening it. “It’s a bit cluttered because it doubles as a storage room of sorts, but it’s clean, and I just changed the bedding last week.”

Shaking his head, Misha shifts closer to the faux fireplace. “Could I just stay here? It’s warmer by the heater.”

“Of course.” Jared closes the door. “Like I said, make yourself at home. If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Misha nods, pulling the blanket more tightly around himself. “Thank you.”

Jared goes to the fridge where he’d left his marshmallow root and orange flower water mixture to cool earlier. Adding a little more orange flower water and mixing well, he divides the mixture into two bowls. To one, he adds some gum arabic powder, stirring it until it dissolves. The other he heats gently on the stove as he stirs in honey, vanilla extract and a pinch of salt. When they have thoroughly combined and reached a simmer, he turns off the heat, switches to a hand mixer, then begins slowly pouring it into the other mixture.

That’s also when he notices Misha peeking in, curious but timid.

“You can come in and have a closer look,” he offers as he continues working. “I don’t mind.”

The other moves to stand beside him. “What are you making?”

“Orange flower marshmallows for sale in the shop tomorrow.” He grins, excited. “I own a candy store in town, and I always make a daily special for it, something unusual if I can help it. I can’t make that much, of course, but that also means it always sells out, so it’s all good.”

“That sounds like an interesting one.”

“I think I’ll embed a chocolate-coated almond in every piece and give it a dusting of fine graham cracker crumbs. You can try one when it’s ready tomorrow morning.”

Misha nods. “I’d like that, thank you. Can I do anything to help?”

“Um…” Jared looks around. “Oh, why don’t you line that sixteen-by-eight pan with parchment paper?” He points out the items. “It’s almost ready.”

Misha carefully does as requested, pressing in all the edges, and hands the pan to Jared just as the confectioner turns off the mixer.

“Perfect timing, thanks.” He pours the mixture into the pan, making an effort to waste as little as possible. He’s quite successful. Tapping the sides a little to make the contents even out, he turns to a cabinet above the counter and fetches a box. “Here,” he opens it and sets it beside the pan. “You start from there, I’ll start from here, just one piece per square inch like this.” He presses one chocolate-coated almond into the corner to demonstrate.

Misha nods and starts working. Soon enough, they meet in the middle, fingers brushing as they place the last two pieces. Misha quickly retracts his hand, looking away.

“All done,” Jared announces happily, shifting the pan to another counter.

“You’re just going to leave it out like this?” Misha asks, following him back to the living room.

“Yup! It’ll cool and harden, then I can cut it up in the morning and put on that crumb coating. Are you still cold?”

The other shakes his head slowly, returning to the armchair. “Thank you for asking.”

“Well, uh… I’ll be in my room then. It’s at the end of the corridor if you need anything. And um…” Jared shifts on his feet, awkward and nervous — maybe he’s the problem, some little thing he didn’t notice that’s gotten Misha so scared. “If I’ve said or done anything to frighten or offend you, I hope you’ll forgive me. I promise I mean you no harm.”

His guest blinks, surprised, then smiles — Misha seems wistful. “Good night, Jared.”

“Good night.”

Jared wakes to sunlight streaming in through his window, muted by the partially drawn blue and white plaid curtains. The night’s thunderstorm has cleared the sky — it’s a bright, cloudless blue. Sitting up, he swings his legs down to the floor. He should make breakfast.

He hopes his guest didn’t leave in the night.

The man’s clothes still need to go into the dryer, and even if they were ready to be worn again, they wouldn’t keep Misha warm enough through the coming winter. Already the days are getting colder, and not even the warmest clothing would suffice without food and shelter. He wonders what Misha plans to do now that his mother’s dead and he has no home, where Misha plans to go. He’s not sure he should ask.

As he heads to the kitchen, Misha stirs behind him, and he turns. "Good morning."

He stares.

In the night, the towel has fallen away to reveal a pair of distinctly feline ears.

They twitch as Misha stretches. "Good morning."

Misha is Chatri.

That's why he'd refused to remove the towel. That's why he couldn't go to a homeless shelter. They are outlawed in Chi'an, as in every Konu city. He shouldn't be here.

At Jared's silence, Misha looks up.

Suddenly, he's leaping to his feet. "I'm sorry!" he cries, blue eyes wide and frightened. "I'm sorry. I'll leave. I'm leaving right now! Please don't report me."

He dashes for the door, and without thinking, Jared catches him by the wrist. "Wait!"

Misha whirls, hissing fiercely and baring his claws. Jared almost lets go in pure surprise.

"Let me go."

"I will! I will, okay? But just… don't run? Please? I swear I won't hurt or report you."

"Why?"

Why? Truthfully, Jared wasn't thinking, but in this moment of perfect clarity, he blurts the one truth he knows: "You're still you." Last night, he invited a kind stranger who’d returned his keys into his home; a different species doesn’t change that.

Misha scoffs, the scent of hostility thick in the air. "You don't mean that."

Jared doesn't know how to prove it, but "Look, I just want to talk. And you can’t go out like this." He looks pointedly at the other’s ears. They’re covered in a layer of short, coppery fur.

For a long time, they continue staring at each other.

Then, "Okay?" he asks tentatively.

Misha nods, eyes shuttered, and he slowly loosens his hold. The Chatri retracts his claws, fingers returning to their normal state, and Jared lets go. True to his word, Misha doesn't move, and the hostility is fading.

"Breakfast? I’m not a very good cook, but it won’t kill you,” he tries to joke.

Blue eyes dart up sharply. The other doesn’t laugh.

"Can we talk over breakfast?" he rephrases, sighing. This is probably a bad time for jokes.

"I am at your mercy," comes the mumbled answer. "If you report me, I'd never escape."

"I'm not going to report you," he says again, entering the kitchen. "Cereal or oatmeal?"

"...oatmeal. Please."

Some minutes later, they're back to staring at each other over bowls of apple cinnamon oatmeal and more coffee and tea. Jared is curious — he's never seen any of the Chatri before, not even in pictures. After the war, everything specifically Chatri was thrown out and declared illegal. Even the history books only depict them as silhouettes with feline features.

"Is it just the ears?" he wonders aloud. He’d never expected them to look so alike. Some of the Konu even have similar ears to Misha's — the differences are subtle.

"There are others, but those are less obvious." Misha has finished his oatmeal and is once again sipping at his tea. "The next most marked difference is well hidden under clothes."

"Oh." Jared finds himself fighting down a blush. "D—Do you want seconds?"

The other hesitates before saying yes, and Jared all but runs to make more oatmeal to escape the overwhelming scent of fear and awkward tension in the room.

"Look, I know it's dangerous, and you really shouldn't be here, but I promise you don't have to be afraid of me," Jared says at last, nervous and frustrated for so long now. It was bad enough not knowing why Misha was terrified last night. It's so much worse now that he knows what Misha is afraid of and can't figure out how to make the other believe it really is okay.

"That's what all bad men say when they're planning some horrible fate for you."

"I'm not—" He sighs, slumping. "I just wanted to know about the Chatri beyond what is written in our history books. Twenty-five years of stories, and I didn't even know you looked so much like us. I won’t stop you from leaving if you really want to go."

Misha immediately rises and makes a beeline for the door. He pauses with his hand on the knob. "M—my clothes. They're still in your dryer."

"Ah, right." He stands. "Um. Are they important to you?" Realizing how silly the question sounds as soon as it is out of his mouth, he raises his hands in supplication as the Chatri turns. "I mean, let me get you something warmer!"

Whatever Misha had planned to say is replaced by a confused "What?" and owlish blinking.

"Winter is coming. The days are getting colder. Soon we'll have snowstorms instead of thunderstorms." He inclines his head towards his room. "Most of my clothes won't fit you, but I can at least give you a warmer coat. Maybe a hat, a scarf and socks too. And you should take the umbrella from yesterday, just in case it rains again."

To his surprise, the other does follow him in, hangs by the door and watches as he rifles through his wardrobe for something that will fit. He finds a sweater that shrunk in the dryer and became too small, a thick woolen scarf, a floppy woolen beanie and a hooded puffy coat with drawstrings for a snugger fit. Setting them down on the bed, he grabs a pair of long woolen socks from the drawer.

"Why don't you try these on?"

For a moment, Misha hesitates to oblige, but then he does, and Jared glimpses bony ribs as he changes into the sweater, wraps the scarf around his neck and pulls the beanie on over his ears. Next, he dons the coat and pulls the hood up, tying the drawstrings to tighten it. Despite the mismatched colors, they fit all right and hide his ears. The coat reaches below his knees, and the trouser socks are thigh-highs.

“There.” He fights the urge to pat Misha down and straighten out the creases and folds. “I hope that’s warm enough. I’m guessing you’re planning to leave the city, but I don’t know how to cross the border illegally, so this is the only help I can give you.”

“Why _are_ you helping me?” the other asks, barely audible.

Misha is looking up at him, uncertain, vulnerable, and Jared doesn’t see the creature his history books said used to be their oppressors. Just like last night, Misha is simply a homeless man in a foreign land, weary from his search and fragile from hunger. Jared wants to protect him, keep him safe, so he doesn’t have to look around with this haunted, furtive fear.

"If I weren't Konu or you weren't Chatri, would you still ask this question?"

Blue eyes widen briefly, then the other smiles sadly. "An impossible scenario."

That is hardly an answer, but Jared decides to drop it. "How long will it take you to clear the border?" he asks instead.

Misha shrugs, looking away. "Two, maybe three, weeks. Depends on the patrols. Need to wait for a chance to slip past." Casting a sidelong glance at Jared, he adds, "If they are alerted, possibly never."

"It'll be freezing outside in two weeks."

"You mentioned, yes."

Jared sighs, tired of the cold shoulder. "I mean... Couldn't you wait till spring to make the trip?"

The Chatri blinks. "What difference would it make? It's not as if—"

"Stay here,” he interrupts impatiently. “I do have a guest room."

Misha is looking at him like he's lost his mind, and maybe he has. Jensen is going to kill him if he catches wind of this. Getting caught sheltering a Chatri could mean life in prison or worse. But it's just for a few months. If they're careful, no one would ever be the wiser. And it's better than letting someone freeze to death, right?

"We'll have to be careful, of course," he continues. "No one else can know you're Chatri. Fortunately, winter means no one will think it strange if you wear hats and hoods everywhere."

"What's in it for you?" He opens his mouth to answer, but Misha is already speaking again. "What do you want in exchange?"

"Nothing," he wants to say, but instead, he replies, "Tell me about yourself.” He wants to know Misha, so similar and yet so different. “And I suppose you can clean the house."

This, Misha seems to understand. Perhaps he’s met other Konu who would help him for a price. "Fair enough," he acquiesces with a slow nod, and Jared has to fight the urge to fidget with excitement — probably some remnant instinct from back when his ancestors had tails.

"Great! Why don't you start with the guest room then?"


	3. Chapter 2: Orange Macarons with Passion Fruit Buttercream

Jared arrives home to the aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling bacon. Misha has only been here for five days, and the apartment is tidier than it's ever been. All the frames and trimmings are pristine white once more, the pastel blue walls are a little less gray, and the navy carpet feels cleaner under his feet. The Chatri even fixed his long-stuck bedroom drawer and reattached the leg of one of his dining chairs. As he steps into the kitchen, Misha empties a small bottle of cider into the pot on the stove and stirs.

"Should I start slicing the bread?" Jared offers.

"Yeah, the kale is almost ready."

The crispy crust crumbles at the edges as he slices the still-warm loaf. Everything smells mouth-watering, and he’s hungry now where he wasn’t before.

"How was your day? I hope you're not too bored holed up here by yourself all the time."

"If you're worried, you could take me out more often."

To Jared’s relief, his housemate seems to be slowly opening up to him. After a day of industrious cleaning and no one coming to take him away, Misha hesitantly agreed to go grocery shopping with him. They then made an early dinner together, after which Misha insistently took over the cooking. Jared was only too happy to oblige — Misha’s cooking is excellent, a far cry from his own.

"Well, I close the shop tomorrow, so I'm free till eight. What do you want to do?" He sets the plate of sliced bread down on the table.

"Could we go to see the world’s largest ball of yarn?" Misha pours the contents of the pot into a large bowl. “I’ve always wanted to see that.”

Jared considers it. “It’s only about an hour away” in Lupiska, within the same enclosing walls as Chi’an, meaning there are no border inspections in between. It’s also outdoors in an open-air gazebo. There won’t be too many people at this time of the year, and no one will ask Misha for identification or expect him to remove his hat. “Sure, we can go tomorrow.”

Misha takes a plate of sliced cheese out of the refrigerator before sitting down. He makes them each a sandwich, then folds his hands on the table. “I feel I owe you an apology.”

The Konu blinks, pausing as he reaches for his plate. “Huh? Why?”

“I’ve been distant when you’ve been nothing but kind," he explains solemnly. "I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Jared starts on his sandwich then. The kale and bacon is delicious with a hint of sweetness from the cider. “Don’t be,” he says after swallowing the first bite. “If our situations were reversed, I’d react the same way.” Or worse.

“I doubt that, but thank you.”

Misha starts eating too, and they relocate to the living room with a bottle of wine soon after. It’s crime procedural night on television, which makes it the night Jared religiously watches TV. Misha doesn’t have a telly back home, so he doesn’t much care what’s on. For the first time, though, Misha doesn't press himself to the other end of the couch and actually seems comfortable. They laugh at some of the jokes, and during the second commercial break, Jared finds himself staring at Misha's almost-orange ears. He wonders what they'd feel like, if they're anything like his own.

"May I?" he asks when the Chatri catches him staring.

The other tenses briefly before nodding. “Y—yeah. Okay.”

He does an inner victory dance and traces one ear with his fingers. It twitches, and he scratches the base gently. The layer of coppery fur is fine and soft.

"May I?" Misha asks, reaching for his, and he leans down obligingly.

"Of course." His own ears are long, floppy, covered in white fur that contrasts with his brown hair.

Misha pats them. "Oh. They're silky. Just like your hair." His fingers comb through Jared's chin-length locks.

The Konu grins, rakes his fingertips through messy hair down to the scruff on Misha's chin. It's short (Misha shaved the day he agreed to stay) and a little scratchy on his skin, but Misha makes this contented rolling sound in his throat when he scratches the Chatri's chin lightly, so he keeps going. By the end of the episode, Misha is half asleep with his head in Jared's lap, and Jared is still absently stroking Misha's hair, ears and chin.

"Let's leave around ten tomorrow," he says conversationally as the next series starts. "I’ll drop off the coffee liqueur brownies, then we’ll head to Lupiska. Lunch there."

Misha stretches till his joints pop and turns over to face Jared sleepily. "Sure. Works for me."

Jared smiles, glad that they're finally comfortable. "Anything you have in mind for lunch?"

"Seafood would be nice."

"We can do that. There's a good place a few blocks from the fish market there."

For the first time, Misha smiles — _genuinely_ smiles— at him before turning back to the telly, and when Jared carries the sleeping Chatri into the guest room two hours later, he thinks they've made some real progress.

"Hey, why'd you bail on me, man?"

“Ah…” Jared falters. It’s Jensen on the phone, and he doesn’t want to lie, but he can’t tell him about Misha. If Jensen finds out about Misha, he’ll want to meet his best friend’s new housemate, but they can’t risk him finding out that Misha is Chatri. “Something came up. I was out of town.”

They went to see the world’s biggest ball of yarn, and after taking some pictures together, he caught Misha pawing longingly at it, so he took Misha to the haberdashery. As it turns out, Misha knitted before he came to Chi’an, so Jared bought him a big bag of knitting supplies. The Chatri is curled up on the cocoa couch now, contentedly knitting an orange sweater.

“Oh, back down south to Sobacca?”

Sobacca is their hometown, where their families live.

“Naw, just over to Lupiska to meet someone. Sorry about the sudden cancel, Jen. I’ll be there next week.”

They get together for drinks every Thursday, then do something after. Sometimes, it’s movies; others, it’s watching a game or hooking up one of Jensen's many consoles for some multiplayer fun. Occasionally, some of their mutual friends join in, but usually, it’s just them, and that's great. He loves spending time with Jensen — it's like having another brother, at least once they'd established that they were never going to be anything but platonic. His best friend is undeniably one of, if not, the most attractive people he knows, and he has eyes. Reflecting on it now though, he wouldn't trade the brotherly affection they share for the world.

"Someone or _someone_?" Jensen’s grin is audible.

"I don't know yet," he replies honestly, glancing over as his new housemate knits a navy blue pattern into the sweater. "Tell you when I figure it out?"

"Don't hold out on me," comes the protest, and it would be a whine if Jensen whined, which he most certainly does not. "What are they like? Do I know them?"

He glances at Misha again. "On Thursday."

"Fine, fine," Jensen grouses, reluctant. "But don't think you're getting off easy."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't you have a date tonight?"

"Oh, I saw what you did there! But yes, I'm supposed to go pick Dani up in fifteen."

Danneel is Jensen's awesome fiancée, the lucky girl, and she'd long since received his best friend approval stamp. She even leaves them alone on Thursdays.

"Thursday then," he confirms with a grin. "Before you're late."

"Yeah, yeah. And if you bail on me this time, Imma break into your place and wait on your couch till you show up, so I’d better see you at Rob’s."

They say their goodbyes and hang up. He’s learned not to assume Jensen’s kidding about the breaking in, so he’s definitely going to be waiting at the bar this time. The last thing they all need is for Jensen to find Misha with his ears uncovered.

Misha is still knitting the sweater when Jared returns for lunch after opening the store. He brought some chocolate fudge home last week to find that Misha doesn't like chocolate. Misha does, however, like fruits, and he hadn't minded the crisped rice treats Jared made on Saturday, so today, he has some gummy hearts made with natural fruit juices. He also bought some sushi from Akita’s because they'd found at Lupiska that the Chatri loves seafood.

"Hey," he greets, sitting next to Misha on the couch. The sweater looks like it's almost done.

"How was your day?" Misha asks, switching threads.

"Lonely," Jared teases, pushing the other's hood out of the way to flick orange ears lightly.

Misha scowls and turns, but as soon as he opens his mouth, Jared tosses in a gummy. "What's this?" The Chatri frowns, but bites in. "Oh. It's much nicer than the fudge last week."

Jared grins. "My love."

"Your love tastes like strawberries?" Misha asks, the twinkle in blue eyes the only sign that the other is humoring him. It’s hopelessly adorable.

“And apple,” Jared agrees, putting a light green gummy heart into Misha’s mouth.

This time, Misha giggles as he chews. “So if your love tastes like fruits, what of yours smells like fish? Because I smell fish.”

“Um…” Jared opens a little plastic tub of soy sauce and dips in a tuna and spring onion roll. "That's… not mealtime conversation," he mumbles, blushing all the way up to his ears as he feeds the Chatri.

"Mm~" Misha sucks on his fingers, blue eyes meeting olive, licks the sticky rice off slowly, and a spike of arousal goes straight down — Misha's tongue is different, a little scratchy on his skin, and the thought of it elsewhere makes Jared’s mouth run dry. “Delicious.”

He swallows to moisten his parched throat. "You were going to tell me about yourself."

The distraction is overly effective. Misha is suddenly a million miles away, gaze shuttered and expression closed. Whatever desire had been in the air only seconds ago has fizzled out completely, leaving the atmosphere as tense and stilted as it had been the night they met, and he’s apologizing before he’s even registered wanting to.

“No,” Misha interrupts quietly. “You’re right. I promised. That was our deal.”

“It’s not like that, Mish. You don’t—” He runs his clean hand through his hair. “Look, it’s not like I’d throw you out. You don’t _have_ to tell me anything. I just… I barely know anything about you, which doesn’t stop me from coming onto you, but does make it really hard to connect with you, and while I thoroughly enjoy the former, I really asked you stay for the latter.”

Blue eyes flick up to his face, then drop to the knitting in the other’s lap. “I… You know, I can’t decide which would be worse: for you to like what you find out or otherwise.”

“Does that mean you care about what I think or you’re worried I’ll stop helping you?”

Jared thinks it shouldn’t hurt before he even gets an answer, but he can’t help himself, so he focuses on eating instead, taking a piece of sushi for himself before feeding Misha another.

Hesitantly, the Chatri sets the almost-finished sweater aside and shifts closer, meeting his eyes while accepting the food. “No, I’m not worried. Your kindness is sincere.”

"Then could you tell me what it's like outside the cities, at least?"

"Impoverished," the other answers immediately. "A lot of us are still on subsistence farming. Some hunt, some fish if they're near the water. We built our villages deep within the forests, far away from Konu cities. We don't have much access to modern plumbing, sanitation, electricity and medicine. There’s progress, but it’s slow. We had to start over from scratch."

"That's why you know how to do so many things," Jared muses, feeding Misha another piece of sushi. "You've had to make your own food, clothes and furniture."

"Mm. As for me, I used to work in our equivalent of a strip club.” He grins at the Konu’s shocked expression. “What? Poor people need a break too, you know. Anyway, I was fired because I spent more time pleasing myself instead of the customers." He leans close to add in a conspiratory whisper. "You see, I can blow myself."

"Prove it," Jared blurts, turning a deep shade of crimson all over again as soon as he realizes.

The Chatri immediately stands and stretches, turning from side to side to loosen up his hips before lying on the floor with his legs propped on the couch. Then he curls in on himself, burying his face in his crotch, and Jared can't decide whether he's more turned on or amazed.

"Anyway," Misha continues, flopping back. "After that, I got a job delivering various goods around villages by bicycle, which was pretty cool. Turns out some villages had it much worse than mine did."

Jared holds out his clean hand to help Misha up and offers him the last piece of sushi with the other. The Chatri ends up halfway onto his lap, again licking the last of the rice and seaweed off his fingers, and he’s glad that Misha decided to share a little after all, that he doesn’t seem upset anymore. Still, "You said you came here looking for your mother," he hazards quietly, hoping he isn’t prying too much, that it isn’t too painful.

“Yes.”

Misha’s face falls — he looks so sad, and Jared tentatively wraps an arm around him, not knowing if it would be welcome. When the Chatri doesn’t pull away, he carefully stretches out on the leather couch and tugs lightly. Misha lets himself fall and ends up tucked into Jared’s side, head resting on the Konu’s shoulder with a long arm holding him close. His hand on Jared’s chest shifts into a gentle rub up and down the Konu’s torso, and Jared wonders if Misha knows how wonderful it feels, or if it’s just good instinct.

“Um, if you don’t mind… Why did she come here?”

There’s a long silence, in which Jared is about to start apologizing, before Misha sighs. “Medicine. My brother fell sick, and it wasn’t something we could cure. We were told the Konu have antibiotics that cure it very quickly, so my mother snuck in to get a dose. She never came back. After… after it was too late, I came here to look for her. In case she was having trouble escaping, you know?”

Jared nods, reaching up to run his fingers through Misha’s hair, rubbing lightly at the base of coppery ears. He doesn't know how to comfort the other. Maybe he's making things worse. If their situations were reversed, he doesn’t think he could bear being around Misha.

"But deep down, I knew she was gone. I just..." A shudder runs through Misha's frame. “It should have been me. I wanted to hope.” The other’s hand stops and fists in Jared’s shirt. “And I was angry. I was so angry. You—you _dogs_ , you _killed_ her.” Claws dig into Jared’s skin, but he barely feels the pain. “All Momma wanted was some medicine to save Sasha, and I don’t even have a body to bury!”

“I’m sorry,” Jared blurts, voice small and choked. Hearing this first hand, it’s the worst. “I’m sorry. I wish the world wasn’t like this. I—I wish I could have helped, somehow; I don’t know, Mish. I’m sorry.”

Misha lifts his face to give the Konu a hard look. “You say this now, but when push comes to shove, when your government comes to put me down, will you really help me?”

Jared covers the hand fisted in his shirt. “I won’t let them find you.”

“They will, Jared. They _will_.” The Chatri’s voice is quiet and resigned. “It’s a matter of time. And you _will_ choose your own people over me.”

“I’ll help you escape,” Jared promises earnestly. “I don’t know how —I just own a candy store— but I’ll try. Tell me what to do, Mish. I don’t want you to die.”

The strength seems to drain out of Misha’s body then, and he buries his face in Jared’s chest. “If only it were easier to dislike you,” he mumbles with a sigh.

Jared wraps both arms around Misha tightly, and when the Chatri doesn’t show any sign of objection, he’s glad. He’s glad. He presses a kiss to the top of Misha’s head, nuzzles soft ears. “Thank you,” he whispers at length. “For giving me a chance.” There’s probably no way to really make amends, but he plans to try.

The other shakes his head. “A part of me is still angry. Momma’s so important to me. And every time I look at you, I can’t help remembering that _your people_ took her away, that it’s all your fault Sasha’s dead too, but…” He makes a sound of frustration and pummels Jared’s chest. “It’s so hard to be angry at you!”

Not knowing how to respond, Jared merely allows Misha to exhaust himself.

When he does, he tiredly adds, “And I don’t like candy.”

In spite of himself, the Konu chuckles. “You’re breaking my heart.”

“What fruit does that taste like?”

Jared tilts Misha’s chin up to look into bloodshot blue eyes and puts a yellow heart gummy into the Chatri’s mouth. The other chews contemplatively, flopping back down.

“Why must it be passion fruit,” he muses sleepily after several moments, snuggling closer.

Jared smiles, breathing deeply of Misha’s lovely scent, and curls around Misha for a catnap.

Dawn has barely broken when Misha wakes, and he can’t be sure what woke him. He listens for it in the darkness receding too slowly to help, his ears perked…

Nothing.

He frowns, rolling over. In this bed, the most comfortable he’s ever had with its soft quilt and pillows and jersey plaid sheets, he never wakes till the sky is too bright and sunny to sleep. There must be something…

Then he hears it—

The whirr of the blender, the sound of the fridge door opening and closing.

Jared’s awake. Earlier than usual. Jared’s woken him before, but never at dawn, and he’s on his feet to check what the occasion is before he’s really even thought about it, too curious. When he silently peeks out the door, Jared is pulling on his sports shoes and zipping up his jacket. Some strange sense of urgency has him running over, and when Jared looks up in surprise at his breathless gasp, he doesn’t know what to say.

“Misha?” Slowly, Jared reaches out, tentatively takes him by the shoulder. “What’s wrong? Why are you up so early? Did I wake you?”

“I— You—” What is he afraid of? Why is he out here? “Um… The— The blender woke me. A—are you going somewhere?”

“Oh.” Jared ducks his head, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry about that. I had to whip up some frosting. I’m going for a run.” He holds out his hand. “Wanna join me?”

“Yes,” Misha blurts — he used to run every day, and he misses the exercise. Then he thinks about it. “But my scent. And in this weather?”

“It’s not that cold out.” The Konu starts stretching and warming up. “Or it won’t be once we start running. As for your scent, don’t worry. There aren’t many people out at this hour, and I smell bad. They won’t notice you.”

“J—”

“And once we get to the park, I’ll rub myself all over you, then we’ll smell like each other, and no one will know any better,” Jared adds brightly in perfect seriousness.

Misha snorts —he can’t help it— and bursts into guffaws. Jared chuckles as well, delighted to have made him laugh, and the odd tension is gone.

“Go get changed?” he suggests, and Misha nods, hurrying off to do so.

When they’re all bundled and warmed up, they set off, starting with a gentle jog, then slowly picking up the pace. The streets are deserted as Jared promised, covered in a dusting of the season’s first snow from last night, and the Konu leads him up a hill towards a mass of trees.

Trees, he’s missed those too. Growing up in the village in the forest, they had never been far away. Now the crisp, fresh scent of the greenery on the cold air feels like the home he’s been too long away from, and he wonders how his friends are doing beyond these concrete walls, if Vicky is all right, if the Order is holding down the fort without him.

“Mish?”

He’s paused under the shade of some trees, and Jared’s walking back towards him from a little further down the path. Closing his eyes, he breathes in the familiar scent of oak and fir, and something in him longs to mark this place, to claim these trees as his own.

“If you like this park, we can run here more often,” Jared offers quietly, close behind.

Misha jumps a little in surprise, but only nods. “It reminds me of home.”

“C’mere,” the Konu says, taking his hand and leading him between the weeping willow trees to a small clearing. “We won’t be seen here,” he explains as he stops, “and we should probably switch shirts.”

It makes plenty of sense as he joins Jared in unzipping his jacket, but he regrets it as the cold bites his sweat-damp skin, and he can’t switch tank tops with Jared fast enough. The tank tops are loose on him, but mold perfectly to Jared’s well toned body, and he can’t help looking, distracted, as he puts his jacket back on. Before he can zip it up, long arms are wrapping him in a hug, pressing him up against that perfect body he’d been admiring only seconds ago, cocooning him in the heady, sweet-spicy scent of Jared — at once so different from a Chatri’s and yet surprisingly pleasant.

Then Jared starts _wriggling._

“W—what are you doing?” Misha asks in alarm, and he can’t decide which is more worrying: Jared’s intentions or his own.

The Konu grins, pausing. “Rubbing myself all over you.”

Misha opens his mouth to tell Jared to stop being completely ridiculous, but all that comes out is, “You don’t smell bad.”

“That’s because we switched shirts, and you smell amazing.” The other runs his hand up Misha’s neck, and blue eyes widen as Jared rubs the collected perspiration all over his chest. “They should bottle some Misha sweat,” the Konu continues, “and sell it as some exotic designer perfume.”

Misha isn’t sure just how long he stares, stunned, at Jared before he snorts with laughter, doubling over as he shakes with mirth. “Oh Bast, you are gross.”

“Only for you,” comes the reply with a grin, and then Jared is lifting him up and spinning, swinging him in a circle. It feels like flying, and he lets out a sound of delight.

“Falkor,” he teases. He’s a big person, really, but Jared is a giant and makes him feel small.

“Mm. I should be so lucky~ Lucky, lucky, lucky~ I should be so lucky in love~” Jared sings atrociously as he sets Misha down, and the Chatri can’t help giggling. Jared is so silly and cheerful, so ready to laugh at himself — it’s fun.

Then the other kisses him on the cheek.

“We should go,” he says, turning away. He steps back, disentangling himself from long arms, and zips his jacket. He’s starting to like Jared too much. “Before more people wake up.”

“Okay,” the Konu agrees, following him out to the pathway through the park. “Race you?”

A beat after he says it, he breaks into a run.

“Hey!” Misha tears after him, and they make it back to the apartment in half the time they’d taken to reach the park, falling over themselves into Jared’s hallway. “Cheater,” he gasps, kicking off his shoes.

“I so did not cheat,” Jared retorts as he locks the door behind them.

Misha smacks Jared’s thigh. “Bad enough you’ve got long legs. You stole a head start!”

“Did not.” He tucks Misha under his chin in a bear hug from behind. “And it’s not my fault you’re short and cute.”

“You’re a giant,” the Chatri complains. “That’s not fair. I’m really big!”

Jared snickers. “Wanna prove it?” He’s only half joking; he’ll take what he can get.

Misha turns and punches him in the shoulder with a scowl. “Hmph. I’m gonna shower.”

“Shall I shave you?” he keeps teasing, scratching the scruff on Misha’s chin. “In the bathtub?”

The other sticks his tongue out for good measure and firmly shuts the bathroom door.

So he heads into the kitchen where he’d prepared the ingredients he’d need this morning and washes his hands, then starts up the stand mixer to beat the egg whites, adding some orange extract and orange food coloring. Slowly, he pours in the sugar as the mixer keeps running, and eventually, the mixture begins to form and hold soft peaks. Switching the mixer off, he folds a mixture of confectioner’s sugar and very finely ground almonds into the beaten egg whites with a spatula. Then he scrapes the combination into a pastry bag and begins piping small round disks of it onto the silicone baking mat he’s laid out on a tray.

The bathroom door opens just as he pipes the last disc, and he grins. Perfect timing. He sets the tray aside to stand for an hour, puts all the used dishes and utensils in the sink and washes his hands. His turn to shower.

When he comes out, regrettably smelling less like Misha than before he went in, the Chatri is drying the dishes. Flicking an ear on his way to preheat the oven, he chuckles at Misha’s scowl of protest, noting that all the scruff is gone.

“Aww.” He pulls a sad face, turning the dial to 285. “I wanted to shave you in the bathtub.”

“I’ll let you shave me if you let me cut your hair,” Misha ripostes, cheeky.

“That’s not fair.”

“Like this morning’s race?”

“Hey, I won that fair and square.”

“Did not, you cheater.”

Misha reaches up to smack him, but he catches the other’s hand, pulling the Chatri into his arms and pressing his lips to the inside of Misha’s wrist. Then he presses Misha’s palm to his cheek and watches his housemate’s guarded expression, the same one he’d worn when turning away in the park earlier.

“Tell me,” he whispers into the awkward silence. “It’s not that this is unwelcome, is it?”

The other shakes his head. “I can’t stay.”

He laces their fingers. “I know that.”

“So you’re saying that doesn’t matter?”

“I’m saying if I let that stop me, we’ll be strangers till the day you leave.”

“Right. Look, I’m not— I’m not th—”

“Yeah.” He wraps an arm around Misha’s waist and lets the other’s hand go to open the oven door. “Yeah, me neither.” Popping the tray in, he shuts it again, then turns back to Misha.

“Then you shouldn’t—”

“So we should only do things that make us happy in the long run and be miserable in the short run all the way there?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think it works that way. What if there is no long run? Then we would never have been happy at all.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Misha frowns. “What if the stuff that makes us happy in the short run makes us miserable in the long run?”

Jared seems to ponder this for a moment, then he breaks into the goofiest grin. “Are you saying you’re worried you’ll fall in love with me?”

“Ugh.” Misha reaches up to smush Jared’s face with both hands as the Konu laughs. “Wipe that look off your face. It makes me feel like I’m robbing the cradle.”

Jared lets him keep going for a bit before taking hold of both hands to stop him. “Ooh, present tense, present tense!” Jared cheers when he can talk clearly again. “So you’re already in love with me?”

Misha groans. “You’re insufferable.” But he leans forward when he does that to bury his face in Jared’s shirt, so Jared counts that as a win.

“Also, how are you older than me?” He ruffles Misha’s short, dark hair, making a mess and rubbing both ears till blue eyes glare up at him. “I don’t believe you’re older than me.”

“I can’t decide if that’s supposed to be a compliment.”

The timer dings, and he puts on his oven mitts to take the tray out, setting it aside on the counter to cool. “That depends,” he replies with a conspiratory giggle, leaning closer. “Are you an old man where it counts?”

“Hmph, naughty.” Misha bops his nose indignantly against Jared’s. “Did you rescue me just to get into my pants?”

“No, no, no,” Jared laments, punctuating every word by rubbing their noses together. “I’m hurt. You’re misconstruing sincere charity.”

“That’s what happens when you get incorrigible about it,” Misha retorts, rubbing his nose back, and Jared thinks it’s impossibly cute.

“But my being sincere about helping you doesn’t mean I’d complain if I got into your pants.”

“Would you complain if you got into anyone’s?”

“Yes! Yes! I told you I don’t hit on everyone like this!”

“Yes, yes,” the Chatri replies drily. “I feel so special.”

Jared pouts. “I’m serious. Don’t make fun of me.” He prods a macaron. It’s cool now. “Try my macarons instead.” He fetches the bowl of frosting he made from the fridge — it’s a light yellow. “Here, hold out your hands.” He places one upturned macaron cookie on each palm and spreads some frosting on each. “Now, put them together like a sandwich and eat it.”

Misha obediently takes a bite — it’s sweet, crispy and light. “Orange and passion fruit,” he muses, looking it over, a little awed. “You really do only know how to make sweets.”

“Hey.” Jared scowls, then takes Misha by the shoulders to tell him earnestly, “You’ve got my heart in your hands.”

The only response he gets is an uncomprehending stare, and he’s almost despaired when Misha finally, _finally_ makes the connection. “Oh. Lady. Bast.” He snorts then, doubles over and has to hold himself up with the counter as he keeps laughing uncontrollably.

“You’re laughing at me,” Jared complains, poking him in the chest. “Stop laughing at me.”

“Surely—” Misha is too breathless with laughter to finish speaking. “Surely even you realize… that was supremely, unbelievably awful?”

“M—mean old man.” Jared’s blushing now, even his white ears a little red where they lie flat on his head in embarrassment. “Wasn’t it even the least bit romantic?”

His hopeful plea sets Misha off in guffaws all over again, and he’s on the verge of storming off to sulk when the Chatri winds slim arms around his neck. “No, no, Jare, okay, all right.” Misha tries valiantly to stop laughing, taking deep calming breaths, and momentarily succeeds. “No, but it’s goofy, all right? I like goofy. It’s kinda cute?”

And Jared thinks he shouldn’t be mollified, but he is.


	4. Chapter 3: Vanilla Pancakes With Marmalade

Jared stares at the potted plant in his hands as he walks home. It’s pretty, with dark green toothed leaves and small white flowers, and has a pleasant citrusy mint fragrance. Rachel, the florist down the block, gave it to him earlier, saying it won’t be long before the flowers start to wither, but that the stems and leaves can be used as herbs in food and tea through the winter. Cooking and tea are more of Misha’s area though, so perhaps his housemate will know what to do with Nepeta. At any rate, if they manage to keep the plant alive indoors till summer instead, it’ll keep the mosquitoes away.

"Hey honey, I’m home," he calls with a giggle after closing the door and hanging up his coat. They've agreed that's how Jared will let Misha know they're alone and it's safe to come out with his ears uncovered, but it still cracks Jared up to say it.

"Jared." Misha comes out from the kitchen. "Oh, what's that? It's pretty." He reaches for the plant and freezes as he inhales. "Is that...? Why did you bring this?!" he cries, stepping back, suspicious and dismayed all at once.

Then suddenly, he sighs and comes forward to take the plant from Jared’s unresisting hands, visibly relaxing. "It smells so good..." He breathes in deeply close to the flowers and sways.

Puzzled by the initial reaction and sudden change, Jared only steadies him with an arm around his shoulders. "Mish, you okay?"

"Good... Great. Wonderful..." He giggles. "You shouldn't have brought NC, but I feel amazing."

"NC?" He gently guides Misha towards the nearby dining table. "You should put that down before you drop it."

Misha obligingly sets the pot down on the table, inhaling deeply of the scent several more times before turning to Jared and languidly looping his arms loosely around the Konu's neck. "Jare~" His voice is playful, flirtatious...? "Why did you bring this home?" His words are slurring slightly, and blue eyes are completely dilated.

The Chatri is high. On the scent of Nepeta. Jared doesn't know what to do.

"A friend gave it to me," he answers, deciding to humor Misha for now. "She's a florist, and she said the flowers will wither soon, so she’s giving them away while they're still pretty."

"Really?" Misha presses close, and Jared gasps — Misha is hard. "Not because you wanted me to do this?" Then they're kissing suddenly, and Jared is kissing back without thinking, arms wrapping around the Chatri's waist. Misha tastes of orange and cinnamon, the tea they'd bought recently, and his tongue is rough as it slides against Jared's own. When they part for air, Misha's skin is flushed, his breathing uneven. "I worried you’ve changed your mind."

“Why? You’ve only gotten more attractive,” Jared blurts immediately, and it’s true — with proper food, rest and grooming, Misha looks _good_ now, and Jared was willing before. He just shaved yesterday, and Jared likes the hint of stubble better than fuzzy scruff.

His housemate smiles at his blush and kisses him again, fingers twining in his hair. This time, he squeezes Misha’s ass to a wanton moan and lifts the Chatri as he presses Misha to the wall. Lithe legs wrap around his waist, and the sweet friction leaves him wanting.

“Hold me, Jare,” Misha murmurs listlessly. His grip is tight, sometimes almost painful, like he’s afraid he’ll lose them if he lets go, like he’s holding on for dear life. “I’m floating away. Hold me. I’ll get lost if I float away. Jared, Jared, Jared… Don’t let me float away?”

Jared tightens his embrace obligingly. “I won’t, I won’t. C’mere, I’ll keep you with me always.”

He carries Misha into his room and lays him down on the bed, blanketing the other’s body with his own. Pressing his lips to each uncovered inch of skin, he unzips the blue hoodie and tugs the matching sweatpants out of the way.

“Oh.” Misha’s cock is covered in a layer of short backward-pointing spines.

Fascinated, he runs his hand over them lightly. They’re just shy of sharp and feel a lot like the Chatri’s tongue. Misha whimpers, thrusting up into his grip, and when he repeats the motion with a little more pressure, the other writhes, precum leaking. Curious, he laps it up with his tongue, takes the tip into his mouth up to where the spines begin, and it’s different. Misha tastes… milder, a little bitter, and smells different — a diffuse, earthy musk. Misha cries out, hips bucking as he keeps stroking the spines and sucking, body held taut as a bow.

“Jare,” he gasps, toes curling in the sheets. “Jared, nnngh!”

He pulls off then, not knowing what kind of refractory time the Chatri has, and crawls up for a kiss. Misha returns it eagerly, sloppily nipping at his lips, pulling at his clothes impatiently, and he shucks his shirt and sweater.

“I’d hurt you,” Misha mumbles, cupping his cheek with one hand, the other trailing down Jared’s torso. “So put this,” a hand grabs his crotch through his jeans, “inside me.”

Jared groans, hips bucking. He’d like to (the thought of Misha clenching tight around his knot is enough to make it swell), but he’s not sure Misha really wants it, even if the Chatri’s hands have made short work of his belt buckle and are sliding the denim pants off his hips now. Blue eyes are still unfocused, and he’s not sure how lucid Misha is in this state, if he even knows what he’s saying. Heck, now that he’s thinking about this, he can’t even be sure that anything Misha has done since he walked in isn’t merely a product of this plant-induced high.

 _Oh Bau._ “Mish,” he murmurs, taking his partner’s face in his hands in an effort to get the other’s attention. “Misha?”

“Hmm…? What’s wrong?”

He searches Misha’s guileless gaze. “A—are you sure? You know you don’t have to do this.”

A flash of hurt answers him before Misha looks away. “Are you asking because we’re different?”

“No!” He tightens his hold, making Misha face him. “No, I’m asking because you’re high.”

“Mm,” Misha agrees, smiling again, tracing Jared’s ears with his fingertips. “I wouldn’t presume to touch a Konu in my right mind.” He giggles, meeting Jared’s eyes once more. “But you’re so nice. You’ve _such_ pretty eyes. And you’d ask, hm? If I weren’t Chatri?”

“Of course.” It’s not about that. “I don’t want us to regret this.”

“I won’t, I won’t, I won’t~” The Chatri sings in a lovely voice. “Do you know…? I wanted to. The night we met. But I had se~crets~ So I—”

He cuts Misha off with another kiss then, reaching down to palm the Chatri’s already heavy balls, and Misha whines with pleasure when he rubs just behind them.

They’re not so different. The Chatri arches into his touch at many of the same places his other partners enjoyed, and he can’t help wondering if there are any other differences besides the spines. Misha’s hands are soft, but callused in a few places, exploring, and Jared’s breath hitches when one wraps around his aching cock.

“Mm, big... ” Misha breathes, an expression of wonder on his face as his fingers circle the knot.

Jared pulls his hand away, face flushed. “Ah, d—don’t.” It’s not even fully formed.

“Why?”

“I’ll come.” He doesn’t want this to end yet.

Inside, Misha said, so he seeks out the other’s entrance with his fingertips and circles it. Misha moans and presses back, whining when he continues to tease.

“Have you ever…?”

Misha shakes his head, peppering his skin with nips and kisses. “I always wanted to try though.”

“But you couldn’t with other Chatri?” Jared surmises, catching the other’s gaze. Blue eyes are focused now, clear. The high seems to have worn off, finally.

“It wasn’t something we did. But I don’t mean…” Misha shifts up to caress his ears and comb fingers through his hair, gaze earnest and searching. “You’re not an experiment. I…” The Chatri’s voice drops to a whisper. “I wouldn’t with anyone else.”

He traces Misha’s lower lip with his thumb, wistful. “Wouldn’t or couldn’t?”

Shaking his head again, the other replies, “If you were Chatri too, maybe we’d be doing something different, but I’d still be right here. I told you — I wanted to the first night too. And this is still a terrible idea, but I don’t want to stop now; do you?”

His answer is to press lightly into Misha, and his lover shudders in his arms, groaning his name into his shoulder, and his hips jerk at the graze of teeth there. He can’t help wondering what it’d be like if Misha bit him, if he could be claimed by a Chatri.

Would they bond? Would anything change?

He hadn’t gotten that far with Sandra, but holding Misha in his arms now, he wants to. He wants to know. It’s barely been three weeks, but it feels right, and he wants to know. He flips Misha over and sucks a mark between the Chatri’s shoulder blades as he parts a shapely bottom, mouths his way down sweat-salty skin to leave another mark in the small of his lover’s back as he teases puckered skin with his thumbs. Misha mewls, treading into the bed and lifting his hips, and Jared shifts his hold to keep the other still before pressing a kiss into the cleft. Misha jerks, gasping, then Jared traces the ring of muscle with his tongue, and Misha is keening into the pillow, hands fisting in the sheets.

"Mish... Mish, can you come?" he asks breathlessly, lips ghosting over slick skin. Now wet and shiny with spit, Misha looks ready, sinful, and Jared has to press the heel of his palm against his cock to keep from coming at the sight. "Just from this?"

The Chatri's response is unintelligible, but the way he clenches needily around Jared's tongue when the Konu presses in is encouraging. So Jared keeps going, holds Misha's hips still as he licks a stripe up into velvet heat and sucks at the ring of muscle. The other is so tight — Jared doesn’t dare go too fast. So he keeps circling with the tip of his tongue until Misha sobs with relief whenever he presses in, till the finger he slides in meets no resistance. The other is making these desperate little cries, painfully hard cock leaking steadily, and Jared knows he's found that sweet spot inside when Misha's entire body jerks as he muffles a loud, shattered cry with the pillow. He sinks bonelessly into the bed moments later and flinches a little as Jared keeps working him open, crawls away with a whimper when Jared doesn't stop.

"Next time," he mumbles, crawling into Jared's lap for a kiss. "Inside next time," then he drops without warning, taking Jared into his mouth.

Jared gasps, flopping back and thrusting up into wet heat, the feel of Misha's tongue running along the underside of his cock more intense than he imagined. He's close, and he tries to tug Misha away, but the Chatri only sucks harder with a complaining whine, squeezes his knot with both hands, and everything explodes in white-hot pleasure.

Distantly, he hears Misha coughing, but when he opens his eyes, the Chatri is licking his seed up hungrily, and it's so _hot_ , he can only moan as another wave of orgasm hits.

Misha climbs atop him to kiss him again, and Jared slicks two fingers in come and slides it inside, always just grazing Misha's prostate. The other winces a bit, but doesn’t complain.

“How long?” Misha asks, breath ghosting over his ear as a hand resumes stroking him.

 _Oh._ He’d be embarrassed if he didn’t feel so good. “Uh… About twenty minutes?”

“Damn.”

“S—sorry. But um...” He makes a soft sound of pleasure as he spills a little more. "If you're willing, I'd like to prepare you for the morning." He wants to open Misha up, get him stretched and ready, so tomorrow will be painless, so tomorrow will be good.

"Bast," Misha swears again, licks his hand as Jared adds a third finger. "Naughty. Gonna keep me up all night?"

"Only if that's what you want."

"Don't wanna be tired. Want tomorrow to last."

Jared groans his approval and captures Misha's lips again, tastes himself on his lover’s lips. Then he tenses. "We won't need those flowers again, will we?"

There’s a pause before Misha laughs. “Bast, no.” He nuzzles Jared's neck, and the other relaxes. “Heck, at this rate, I’m never going to let you stop.”

Misha wakes cocooned in Jared’s limbs and blankets, sated and content. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, casting a dim, warm glow over the room. He nuzzles Jared’s jaw, and the Konu stirs, smiling down at him. He meant what he said last night, of course, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is a bad idea. He knows he can’t stay. He would only endanger them both. And yet… Would it be selfish to make the most of the few months that they have? Jared wanted to from the start.

"Breakfast?" he asks with a purr, stretching languidly till he feels that satisfying pop in his joints.

Jared shifts to bury a hand in his hair and scratch behind his ears, and Misha could easily get used to this. Damned NC. If only they’d never started, he’d never know what he was missing.

"Mish?"

"Hm?"

"I asked what you're going to make."

"Oh. Hmm..."

After the war, the Konu barricaded all the cities they rebuilt and made sure all information on the Chatri was controlled. Once the dominant race, the Chatri had indeed considered themselves superior to the then relatively barbaric Konu. There was no disputing the fact that the Konu did all the work while the patrician Chatri reaped the luxuries, but no one had been killed until the first uprising, and interracial interaction wasn't a crime. By the end of the war, class differences had turned to vengeful enmity, and after the Chatri fled so far into hiding that hunting them became too much trouble, the Konu victors merely resolved to keep them out upon pain of death.

Knowing that Momma had been caught, knowing that the Konu had executed her, he had to admit that a bitter part of him had wanted to keep Jared's keys that night and break into the Konu's apartment. He didn't think he could have lived with himself though; Momma taught him better than that. Still, he hadn't expected to end up here. Any other Konu would have thrown him to the authorities without a thought upon finding him out. If he hadn't been starving and desperate, he wouldn't even have risked going home with Jared.

Now, here he is in Jared's bed, offering to make pancakes for breakfast. Jared wouldn't be the only one found guilty of treason. He could just hear Darius's disbelieving "They killed your family, and you spent the entire fucking season as some Konu's housecat? What, you had some kind of Stockholm Syndrome? You weren't even in heat!" But Jared has never been anything but sweet, funny and helpful. He isn’t responsible for all the wrongdoings of his people. Maybe if everyone stopped caring about their differences, the world wouldn’t have to be this way. People can be so stupid sometimes.

"Mish?"

Snapping back to reality, he finds himself staring up into concerned eyes.

"Mish, are you okay? Did I say or do something wrong?"

Yes, but it wasn't Jared's fault. NC couldn't create something that wasn't already there. The fact remains that he'd been attracted to Jared from the first good look he'd had of the Konu, and only good sense had kept him from taking Jared's forthright flirtations to heart that night.

"You _are_ regretting it, aren't you?"

He reaches up to pat Jared's adorably floppy ears. "Yes." He can't take the way Jared's expressive face falls. "No, I mean, it's not like that. I just... We shouldn't have."

"Because we're different?" Jared is hurt.

Leaning up, he kisses the downward tilt to the other's lips away. "Because I have to go."

"Then don't."

"You and I both know that won't end well for us."

Jared falls silent, flopping back beside him, their hands clasped. It's clear the Konu doesn't know what to say. Even if they were willing to risk it, the Order is waiting for him. None of the acolytes can perform the Ritual just yet, not even Sebastian. He has a responsibility to return.

“That doesn’t mean I lied last night though,” he adds, turning to face Jared. There’s no sense in stopping anymore, and if he didn't have to leave in the spring, he would have no regrets.

His companion sighs, facing him with a sad smile, like a kicked little one trying to be brave. "I guess that's going to have to be good enough for me."

 _This is it,_ Misha thinks, his heart sinking. _I'm a goner._ Aloud, he only reminds, “Pancakes?”

“Yeah.” Jared sits up, resolute. “Let’s do that. I’ve got some excellent orange marmalade from back home to go with it.”

They head to the kitchen without dressing, and Misha admires the Konu’s well-built body, the golden tan of his skin, the way his ears lie just so on his sleep-mussed hair. They move around each other, fetching the ingredients they need, and it’s heartbreakingly perfect.

So he leans back when Jared embraces him as he sifts the flour into the bowl, turns his face up for a kiss when Jared hands him the baking soda and lets the other sway him to the rock songs on the radio. He whimpers as he adds the sugar — Jared's cock presses into the crease of his ass, and all he can think of is how good it would feel inside, how good Jared’s tongue and fingers had been as they opened him up last night, how hard he’d come down his own throat as they’d taken him apart. The truth is, he stopped after he was Chosen by the Order, and he’d forgotten how intensely good it feels till Jared had begged to see, till Jared was rimming him senseless as he sucked himself off, and he really can’t be sure whether it was the Konu’s fingers on his prostate or his own helpless moaning that finally did him in.

Oh Bast, a mere memory, and he’s hard as nails all over again.

He whisks the eggs, melted butter, vanilla extract and buttermilk with a hand mixer till they are thoroughly combined and smooth. The Konu’s hands are warm where they sweep over his skin, but they trail lava-hot desire. Pouring the mixed liquid into the flour mixture, he stirs before running the electric mixer through the combined ingredients. Jared still smells nothing like a Chatri, but beneath the heady scent of _want_ , it’s adoring, protective, content — the kind of scent he'd expect from a new mate, and he wants.

Then Jared kisses the back of his neck.

His hand slips, and he only barely remembers to switch the mixer off as batter splatters onto them both. Fuck, but he _needs_.

There’s no way Jared could have known.

“Mish?”

He turns. Jared’s eyes are blue-green today where they’d seemed olive before. More like his own. Confused and concerned again.

He reaches up to clean a drop of batter off a perked ear with his fingertip, pressing closer. Jared gasps as their hips meet, but doesn’t move as he cleans his finger in his mouth, as if transfixed. He leans in, traces a dimple with his tongue, licks drops of batter off the Konu’s face, and those pretty eyes drift shut. He buries his hands in those silken locks and holds Jared to him, follows the trail of batter down with his tongue, and Jared keens as he nears the collarbone, backing him into the counter, strong arms tightening around him.

 _Here,_ he thinks and laves at it again. Jared’s hips buck into his, the other’s cock sliding under his balls, and he moans into the spot, mouthing at it, curling around Jared.

"Do it," Jared groans into his hair, sounding as wrecked as he feels, fingers trailing up his inner thighs. "Do it, Mish. Claim me."

His breath hitches — the request floors him, and he _wants_ , but they can't. _He_ can't. So he presses his lips to Jared’s, claims his mouth because he can't claim his bond, and wraps his arms and legs so tightly around his lover, it feels like they’d melt into each other if only they could. Jared carefully licks some batter off his face, then dips long fingers in the remaining butter and presses painlessly into him, into that place that made him see stars last night.

“Bast, Jare,” he cries out into the kiss. He’s achingly open and he _needs_ — he can’t wait a second longer. “Take me now.”

Jared doesn’t hesitate, just lifts Misha halfway onto the counter, slicks his way with the rest of the melted butter and sheathes himself in one fluid thrust. After last night, Misha doesn’t even need time to adjust.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, just—”

The other obediently starts thrusting into him, hard and fast and perfect, and he sucks on a nipple to muffle his cries. Jared is moaning his name, nipping his ears, and all he can do is cling tightly to his lover, run his tongue over the nub in his mouth in a way that makes every snap of Jared’s hips sharper than the last. Bast, he normally lasts much longer than this.

“J—Jare—ah!” He doesn’t quite manage to warn the other before the pleasure explodes through him in haloed lights, and _fuck_ , but he doesn’t come this hard even after the Ritual.

To his surprise, Jared pulls all the way out and flips him over before thrusting in once, twice, then plunging in balls-deep with a muffled shout. Jared is shaking, mouthing incoherent words into the back of his neck, and Jared had felt big before, but now, Misha feels so full, so _good_ as Jared spills more inside, so complete. It's all he can do to keep from begging Jared to claim him — every brush of lips there sends a jolt of pure need through his being, and he's never felt the urge to mate so strongly, not even in heat.

Of course, no one's ever even hinted. He belongs to Bast. No one would dare. No one would even think of taking him like this. But Jared, naturally, has no idea, no idea how the strength leaves Misha's body when he sucks a mark into the back of the Chatri’s neck.

"J—Jared," he whimpers, sagging against the counter as orgasm crashes over him anew.

"Ah, sorry." Misunderstanding, Jared carefully lifts and carries him back to their bed, still joined. Curling around him and pulling a sheet over them, the other nuzzles his hair and chuckles sheepishly. "I hope you're not too hungry."

"N—no."

"Don't go," Jared whispers again, lacing their fingers and placing a gentle kiss over the mark. “Or run away with me, somewhere far away.”

Misha sobs, trembling with effort, claws digging into the bed. "Please… Please stop."

"Mish? Are you okay? What's wrong? What did I do? Did I hurt you?"

Oh Bast. Oh Bast, he can’t take Jared’s anxious concern. "I can't, Jare, I can't," he wails, face buried in the pillow. "Bast knows I want to, more than anything, but I can't!"

"Shh... shhh... It's okay." The Konu holds him more tightly, pressing a kiss into his crown, moaning softly. "It's okay. We'll figure things out, okay? Slowly. We'll think of something."

We, he says, like a promise, like a given, and it only makes things harder. "Come with me," Misha hears himself saying. “Come with me to Gatoux.”

Jared buries his face in Misha’s hair. “Will it be any different? Won’t your people kill us both too?”

The Chatri falls silent. The Order would excommunicate him, then they’d both be executed, just like here. And it would be harder to hide in Gatoux. Nobody knows him here. Jared just owns one candy shop in a big city. In a tiny village like Gatoux, it’d be impossible to hide his mate.

"I'm sorry," he says softly. "You're right. It's not different. It's worse."

Jared presses Misha’s knuckles to his lips one at a time, runs his thumb lightly over the soft skin on the back of the Chatri’s hand. “I would though. If it were better.”

“I know,” he sighs, surprised to find he means it. “What about your family and friends?”

“I’ll miss them, of course, but not seeing them and knowing they’re safe is better than seeing them and constantly worrying my mate will be killed.”

Mate, he says, again like a foregone conclusion, but “You don’t even know that’s possible.”

“What, mating? It’s not a purely biological relationship, is it?”

Oh. “Oh Jared.”

It’s as if Jared has already decided, and the truth is if nothing mattered but the way they felt right now, he wouldn’t have any reservations either. Maybe that’s just his isolation talking, all this time of having no one else, but Jared has a choice.

“Is it to you?”

“No. No, but it could be both, complete. Don’t you want that?”

He could wail in desperate frustration — he’s always been content with himself, never wanted to be any other way, but now… now, he wishes they weren’t different, that they could just be together and not have to worry about the world. A complete bond, a life free from the Order’s traditions and taboos, a home far away from the world their people had torn asunder.

Jared sighs, kisses his shoulder, silky long hair brushing his skin like the softest caress. “Not if it means with someone else.”

“Then do it,” Misha almost says. He could rationalize it, consider it a form of security. But instead, he says, “Think about it, Jare. I know— I know it feels right, but the fact is, we barely know each other. Let’s… Let’s both put a bit more thought into this, okay?”

This seems to suffice for now, and the Konu cuddles him. “Okay.”


	5. Chapter 4: Orange and Cashew Butterscotch

Misha looks into the fridge balefully. He needs more eggs, milk and some fresh herbs for dinner, but Jared won’t be home for a while. He has the keys and some money, and the grocery store they went to last time isn’t far, but…

He paces, anxious.

Jared keeps telling him he doesn’t need permission or company to go out, that he’s not a prisoner in this house, but he worries people will notice he’s not like them, that he will be caught and held hostage to force his people’s surrender. The truth is, he knows he doesn’t act much different with or without Jared, but having the Konu around makes him _feel_ like he’s blending in better somehow, makes him feel _safe_ , and isn’t that ironic?

This is pathetic, he decides, pulling on a beanie and spraying on a cloud of perfume to mask his scent before donning a thick fur-lined hooded overcoat. He grabs the keys and cash and puts on his boots. He absolutely can manage getting a few groceries by himself.

He walks briskly to the grocery store, consciously avoids looking around to see if people are staring or he’s being followed. It’s freezing out —everything’s covered in a layer of ice and snow— so that probably isn’t abnormal, but he still grabs what he needs and goes quickly to pay, eager to get the entire affair done as swiftly as possible.

As he’s heading back to the apartment, he hears some commotion in an alley, and it takes all his self-control not to start running for a hiding place. Silently, he chides himself. He doesn’t have to be so jumpy — it doesn’t even concern him. He’s about to keep walking when he hears a voice.

“Please.” It sounds like an elderly lady pleading for mercy. “Please don’t do this,” she sobs. “I have— I have children, and—”

“Shut up!” a man yells, then there’s a crash. “Shut up if you know what’s good for you, bitch!!”

And Misha can’t explain how or why he’s suddenly in the alley, staring down the burly Konu towering over the lady huddled by the trash cans and shouting, “Stop! Why are you doing this?!”

The man sneers, advancing on the old woman. "If she'd just handed me her wallet when I asked nicely—"

"No! I won’t let you hurt her!" Misha gets between them and shoves the man away. "She already has so little, and you'd take it from her and her children! How could you?! You have no right!"

Behind him, the lady seizes her chance to run away, and he's at once relieved and terrified. What if his hat falls off and they find out he's Chatri? The thug shoves him out of the way into the wall, and seeing that his first target is too far, whirls on him.

"Fine then," he snarls, baring rotting teeth (a few missing). "Since I can't have hers, I'll just help myself to yours." He lifts Misha by the collar and starts searching the Chatri's pockets. Misha kicks him in the chest, landing lightly on his feet, and runs. "You fucking mutt! Get back here!" The man lunges at Misha's leg, and Misha breaks his fall with his arms, kicks back at his assailant as hard as he can.

"No! Let me go! Get away from me!"

"Hey." It's a new voice, deep, and Misha looks up to see a tall man with spiky blond hair, short floppy light brown ears and emerald eyes. He's gorgeous, could be a model, and wearing a fierce expression on his handsome face. "Leave him alone. The cops are on their way."

The brute growls, looking from Misha to the newcomer and back again. “Hmph. The next time I see you…” He scampers off, and the blond stranger pulls Misha to his feet.

“You okay?”

Misha nods quickly, grabs his fallen bags and turns to leave. “Thank you.”

“Hey, wait!”

He swallows his alarm, forces himself not to run and schools the panic off his face as he looks back. The stranger can’t know. Jared said no Chatri had been seen here in his lifetime. Only certain government agencies would be able to identify one without seeing the feline ears.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you… Won’t you come with me to the cops? Aren’t you going to report the guy?”

He shakes his head hurriedly. No police, no. “I didn’t get a very good look at him — too busy trying to run. You saw him better. You should handle the report.”

“But without a victim or a perpetrator and only one witness, it’s barely even a case!”

Ugh. Bast, no, but he can’t. If this were Chatri territory, he’d see the thug prosecuted personally, but here, he can’t. He hates this, the constant fear and helplessness, the senseless divide.

“No.” He shakes his head again. “I can’t— I only ran in because he was threatening an old lady. Didn’t you see her run out? That’s the victim you need. I’m just— I’m just a witness myself, and not a good one either. I—I need to go.” He all but runs towards the apartment.

“Wait! Wait, please!”

“Jen!”

Misha freezes. It’s Jared. It must be.

“Hey man, I didn’t know you chased d— Misha?”

Oh, thank Bast, it is. He turns around just in time to see Jared give the blond a friendly one-armed hug. They’re close then. His heart sinks. This could get complicated.

“Wait, you know him?”

“Yeah.” Jared holds out his hand, and Misha takes it without really thinking. “Misha kinda… lives with me right now. Misha, this is my best friend, Jensen. We’re from the same hometown.”

“Oh.” _Best friend. Oh no._ He nods with a small smile. “Um. Hi.” Surely Jared wouldn’t let Jensen drag him along to the police station. Neither of them can afford to be found out. Still, he can’t help this sinking feeling.

“What? Wait, he lives with you, and you never told me?! What kind of best friend are you?!”

“Well, he uh… It hasn’t been long.” Jared pulls Misha close, and Misha goes willingly, burying his face in the Konu’s neck. Jared smells protective and confident — it’s calming, reassuring, and Misha leans on him a little. “Remember the someone in Lupiska?”

“Oh,” Jensen says slowly, crossing his arms. “So you were holding out on me! He really is _someone_!”

“No!”

Misha looks up as Jared flails.

“What do you mean, no? That, right there, is how you hold a mate.”

“I mean, no, I wasn’t trying to hide it!” Jared’s gone red all over. “We haven’t— We’ve only just—” He stops himself. “I—I mean—”

“So you were just openly keeping our hot sex a secret?” Misha teases, grinning. The idea puts a lightness in his heart. That Jared can cherish this gives him hope.

Once, this would have been something purely biological — mates were chosen mostly by scent and season, and a twist of genes decided your place in society. He’s glad they’ve mostly evolved out of some of their ancestors’ more inconvenient traits (like tails), but the few who have retained those traits are revered now as being closest to their primordial gods, the Konu to the canine goddess, Bau, and the Chatri to their divine mother, Bast. He supposes it’s mollifying to be prized for suffering the biological setbacks, if a little strange.

“Hey,” Jared protests, squeezing his waist reproachfully. “Whose side are you on?”

“You’ve only just…?” Jensen raises an eyebrow. “I demand details, JT. I see you got off easy the last time! Wait till I tell Rob, Ty and Chad.”

“What? No, no, n— Jen!”

“Hey, wait a minute.” Jensen pauses as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “That can wait. Right now, you need to get Misha to come to the police with me. We’ve got a crime to report.”

“No,” the Chatri corrects, quiet but firm. “You do.”

“A crime?” Blue-green eyes slide from Jensen to Misha. “What crime?”

“Some thug tried to mug some old lady and your boyfriend here.”

Immediately, Jared is patting him down, checking for injuries. “Oh Bau, are you okay?”

Misha nods, clinging to Jared. “I’m fine. I told you he only turned on me after I helped the old lady, and I didn’t get a good look at his face. He’s missing a few rotting teeth, that’s all I know.”

Jensen runs a hand through his hair. “Every little bit helps, Misha. I don’t want him to get away with it and hurt more people.”

“M—me neither.” He wants to go, he does, but the police would want pictures and papers, and he can’t. Under Jared’s jacket, his claws are digging into his lover’s skin. He doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt, but he can’t afford to die here — his people need him.

“Th—”

“C’mon, Jen, he’s told you what he knows,” Jared interrupts, hugging him tightly. “Don’t give him a hard time? His mom just passed away. He came here because he needed the space.”

“Bau, that’s rough.” Jensen wipes a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, man. I just— Well.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I can’t— I can’t do police again, okay? They— They couldn’t find Momma until she turned up dead in a ditch, and then it was just days and days of police making it sound like it was all her fault she— I can’t, all right?” A half-truth as good as any.

“What? That’s awful. How can they say it’s the victim’s fault?! I can’t believe they still do that.”

And Misha can’t help wondering if Jensen would feel the same if he knew that Momma was Chatri, that her only fault was being the wrong species. He sighs softly. Perhaps Jensen would sympathize regardless. Jared’s best friend can’t be so bad. Maybe.

“Hey, why don’t we get dinner tonight before Rob’s?” Jensen suggests brightly. “We haven’t been to Mark’s in a while. All three of us. How ‘bout it? It’s on me.”

Jared turns to Misha. “Mish? You don’t have to, but Mark does make a mean seafood stew.”

“Seafood stew?” It’s tempting, and it’s not like they haven’t eaten out before. Besides, Jensen is probably trying to make up for earlier. “O—okay.”

Jared and Jensen light up in unison.

Misha thinks of his best friends back home, of Darius, Vicky, Matt and Sebastian. They must be sick with worry. He should have been back before first snow. Now it is the height of winter, and he won’t even start heading back till spring. He misses them, the connection and understanding they shared, so much like the one Jared seems to share with Jensen.

“Seven then? After I’ve taken care of that report?”

Jared nods. “Meet you there?”

“Yeah.”

They part with a clap to the shoulder, and Jared walks Misha home in silence. When they finally get back to the apartment, Misha is pleasantly surprised to find that only three of the twelve eggs he bought have broken in the earlier scuffle. As he’s rinsing the raw egg off the rest of his purchases, he notices the scrapes on his arms, probably from when he’d broken his fall earlier. Just then, Jared wraps him in a tight hug from behind and notices them too.

“Oh Mish,” he sighs, gently washing the raw skin. “Let me get a towel and some cream.”

“Jared, it’s nothing. I’m fine.” He’s had worse back home and never did anything about it.

Jared returns with his softest, fluffiest towel anyway, and leads Misha to the sofa. Pulling the Chatri into his lap, he pats scraped arms dry, then fishes a small tube of antiseptic cream out of his pocket and begins applying the cream to the angry red skin with a featherlight touch. Misha can’t help smiling at the other’s concern over a few scrapes as he holds out his arms and keeps them still. This could be everything he’ll ever need.

[ ](http://s3.photobucket.com/user/shinigami_yumi/media/Meowsha_zps7c50ab24.png.html)

“I love you,” Jared says suddenly, quiet but emphatic, as he dabs cream onto Misha’s elbows.

Misha blinks, then chuckles. “I’m not going to die over a few scratches, you know.”

“No, I mean… I’m— You didn’t have to put yourself at risk to save a stranger, one of us even.”

“I was terrified,” he admits softly, looking down at the scrapes. “I don’t know why, but I couldn’t ignore it. I knew the risks. If he’d just knocked off my hat… But I couldn’t just let him rob her.”

“That’s because you’re kind, Mish. And I’m so proud of you, you know? So many people would have just walked away. So few are willing to get in trouble for a good cause anymore. And it sucks that you couldn’t go to the police like you wanted. Why does it have to matter whether we’re Konu or Chatri? Are we really that different? I—I just don’t understand.”

Oh, if only the rest of their peoples felt the same way! He leans back into Jared’s warmth, letting the Konu cradle him close. “You know, I’m glad you came when you did,” he adds, huffing a laugh. “I was starting to think Jensen would forcibly drag me to the police with him.”

Jared lets out a bark of laughter. “C’mon now, Jen isn’t that bad.”

“He was very forceful!”

“Yes, all right, he’s got a strong personality. What he stands for, he fights for and he stands by. And you couldn’t ask for a better friend or brother — Jen will never let you down. And when you go home in spring, I know he’ll be the one carrying me home from Rob’s, putting me up on his couch and otherwise making sure I hold it together.”

Misha sighs, squeezing Jared’s hand. “I’m sorry.” He tilts his head to press a kiss to Jared’s jawline. “That’s why I didn’t want us to—”

The Konu shakes his head emphatically. “No. I’m glad you’re with me, Mish. I just— I wish our people didn’t kill each other on sight.” He slumps, morose. “Then you wouldn’t have to go, and I could have this amazing and beautiful person with me forever.”

Forever, he says, like he knows what that means, like even a year isn’t already a miracle.

But Jared is right. He doesn’t regret this. He wishes he could spare Jared the pain, but even that will be a cherished memory — that will be what hope feels like, hope that centuries of enmity and hatred could one day come to an end. He loves. He has to believe.

“Amazing?” Misha turns with a grin, hoping to lighten the mood. He loops his arms around his lover’s neck, straddling muscular thighs. “Hey, I just chased a thug away. You’re sheltering a fugitive here. I think you get more points.”

Jared blushes and ducks his head. “Th—that’s different. I was trying to get into your pants.”

Leaning in, the Chatri giggles as warm hands slide into his back pockets for a light squeeze, affectionate and a little possessive. “Well, is it worth it? Is the sex to die for?”

“Oh yes.” Jared steals a kiss. “Everything is worth it. I’m glad you stayed.”

“I’m glad I stayed too,” Misha agrees, working at the fastenings on Jared’s shirt. “I would have spent many nights fantasizing about getting into your pants if I hadn’t, and none of them would be even close to the reality.”

“Oh Bau,” the other gasps, pressing him close. “Would you touch yourself?”

“Bast, yes,” he breathes, moving on to the Konu’s belt buckle. “Why don’t I show you how?”

Di Pellegrino is a cosy restaurant two blocks from Jared’s shop, the owner a buff blond of Jensen’s height. Mark has black high-set ears in nearly perfect upright triangles. Along with his height, build and fierce-looking face, they cut an imposing presence, which might be why the restaurant isn’t packed with customers despite the phenomenal food and generous portions. It’s a shame — the scary exterior belies the friendliest host and impeccable service.

The walls and floors are terracotta tiles with a stucco ceiling, all the furniture is dark-stained wood, and the hearty fare is served in green dishes on red and white checkered tablecloths. Despite the icy weather, the place exudes a homely warmth, and Mark is only too happy to serve up a second helping of his delicious seafood stew.

Misha thinks he might be hooked.

“So.” Jensen digs into his pasta. “Give me the lowdown. How’d you guys meet? What do you do? And you’re telling me everything, Jared. _Everything,_ you hear me?”

“He kidnapped me,” Misha pipes up brightly.

“I picked him up off the streets and tied him up in my bedroom for a month,” Jared agrees with a wink, taking a big bite of his cheeseburger.

“And I thought he was some sort of psycho, but it turns out he just wanted to feed me candy.”

“And have sex.”

“And have sex.” Misha giggles, munching on some garlic bread. “It’s good, wholesome sex.”

Jared nods. “No weird herbs or toys or anything.”

“He’s really good with his tongue and fingers — goes straight for the goal.”

Jensen points at them, shaking his head. “This is not cool, guys.”

Jared points back. “Hey, you wanted details.”

“Yeah, I call bullshit. Stop making shit up.”

“Mm-mm.” Misha intones very seriously. “You have no idea how much of this is true.”

“Bzzt, it’s all real.” Jared laughs, pulls his lover close. “Mostly.”

“Yes.” Misha turns, grinning widely. “There might have been some weird herbs involved.”

“Hey!” Jared bops his nose against Misha’s in protest. “That was an accident!”

“An accident?” Jensen arches an eyebrow.

“But we liked the result.” They nod at each other. “We really liked the result.”

Then Jared gropes Misha, and the other smacks his hand with a mock scowl.

“Ow!” He frowns, cradling his sore hand. “Mean old man.”

But Misha takes his hand and kisses it better with a sunny smile, and the frown melts away.

“Get a room, you two.” Jensen nudges Jared’s foot under the table with a chuckle, and Jared nudges back. “We’ve got kids in this joint.”

“If it’s rooms you want, we’ve got a couple in the back,” Mark offers, sauntering over.

Jensen leans back. “You make that offer to everyone that gets a little handsy in here, MP?”

“Nope.” The proprietor smooths out his mustache. “Only to Padalecki over here because he never takes me up on it.”

“Ouch.”

“Let’s do it, Jare,” Misha chimes in excitedly. “Let’s do it, c’mon.”

Blue-green eyes glint. “What, I didn’t tire you out enough this afternoon?”

“Whoa, man.” Jensen holds his hands up. “Too much information coming.”

“But you wanted de~tails~” Misha whines, snuggling into Jared.

Mark pats Jensen on the shoulder. “Dessert’s on the house while you wait, J.”

“Ooh, dessert!” Jared lights up, the room forgotten. “What’s for dessert?”

“Today, we’ve got our flourless chocolate cake, zuccotto, panna cotta, and of course, tiramisu, all made in house as always.”

“Ooh! Zuccotto!” He does a double fist pump. “I love that! I’ll take a zuccotto.”

“I’ve been abandoned for cake,” Misha sighs. “I’ll take a panna cotta then.”

Mark shrugs. “Them’s the breaks, man. Told you he never takes me up on it.”

Jared wraps an arm around Misha’s waist and presses a kiss to his temple through the navy blue beanie. “I’ll make it up to you later? I can keep you up all night this time.”

“I’ll get the zuccotto as well,” Jensen interrupts firmly, kicking Jared lightly in the shins.

Jared sticks his tongue out as Mark walks off with their dessert order and starts working on the rest of his fries.

“You still haven’t told me what Misha does,” he reminds pointedly.

“Oh, he d—”

“I used to work in a strip club,” Misha interjects smoothly, wiping his lips on his napkin as he finishes the last spoonful of stew.

“I can’t take him anywhere.” Jared shakes his head. “I cannot take him anywhere.”

“What.” Jensen is just staring at them now, likely trying to figure out where truth ended and trolling began, but Misha doesn’t think he’ll have any luck.

“Why do I even bother making you look respectable if you’re going to tell everyone that?”

“You were trying? I hadn’t noticed,” Misha replies airily.

Green eyes blink slowly. “In Lupiska?”

“Nuh-uh, I won’t tell you where, since Jared’s trying to make me look respectable.” He giggles.

“He does deliveries.” Jared gives Misha a dirty Look.

“What, like the pizza man?” Jensen deadpans, and Jared cracks up.

“No, but that was after I quit the strip club.”

Jensen laughs, throwing a suggestive glance Misha’s way. “So are you looking to work in a strip club here too? I bet Rob knows people.”

“So do I, if you need more options,” Mark adds as he brings them their desserts.

“No, no, no, no, no.” Jared presses Misha to him in a tight hug. “He’s mine. All mine. My Misha. He’ll be my househusband and cook and clean and knit sweaters.”

“I’m thinking I could sell some sweaters.”

“Yeah, like these!” He shows off the sweaters they are wearing, adjusting their matching beanies so they sit perfectly. Misha’s sweater is orange with a navy blue M over the heart while Jared’s is navy blue with an orange J over the heart. They have matching criss-cross patterns up the side, and the V-neck fits perfectly over a collared shirt.

“You mean, you made these? Wow.” Jensen reaches over to feel the wool, impressed. “That’s some amazing talent.”

Mark pats Jared’s shoulder, running his fingers over the needlework. “It’s like something you’d buy in a designer store. Can I order one?”

Misha beams. “Of course! Oh, I didn’t bring my measuring tape. Hmm…” He taps his chin. “Ah, Jared, could you stand shoulder to shoulder with him for a sec?”

Jared rises and obligingly bends his knees to match his shoulder level to Mark’s. Jensen smothers a laugh as Mark scowls, but neither remark as Misha notes the relative measurements he needs. Misha nods when he’s done, and Jared returns to his seat and dessert.

“What color would you like the sweater?”

“Black.”

“Same design?”

“Sure.”

“Great! I’ll get it to you as soon as I am able.”

“How much for it?”

Misha blinks, then taps his chin, pensive. “Hmm… About a hundred…?”

“Great. How’s dessert?”

Jared is quick to raise both hands in the air. “I love it!”

Mark smiles at that, and all at once, it makes him look less scary but more creepy. The poor man can’t win. Jared finishes the rest of his zuccotto, scooping up the dredges of ice cream on the plate, then excuses himself to the restroom as Mark takes his plate away, leaving Jensen and Misha to finish their dessert in silence.

Jensen clears his throat. “Hey.”

Blue eyes flick up. Jared’s absence makes Misha nervous even with the beanie masking the shape of his ears. The insecurity feels alien — he’s not used to caring what others think, but back home, they wouldn’t get him killed.

“Sorry about earlier.”

He shakes his head. “I understand where you were coming from. How did the report go?”

“Good.” The blond grins. “Turns out the thug has a record, and a few other people have reported him already, so they’re going to bust him and lock him up soon, no problem.”

Misha nods. “I’m glad.”

“So uh…” Jensen scratches the back of his head. “I still don’t know how much of what I’ve heard today is true. Jared likes messing with people, and it looks like he’s found a match in you, eh? In more ways than one?” When Misha smiles, he continues, “But he seems really happy with you, and that’s what matters.”

“Yeah,” the Chatri agrees quietly. “He makes me very happy too. I’ve never had anyone love me as an equal before, and I never expected to find it here.”

“Good.” The Konu nods, setting his dessert spoon down. “Look, all I’m asking is, just don’t hurt him, all right? He’s a big guy, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly, and he’s as sweet as all that candy he makes. If he loves you now, he’ll love you ten, twenty, fifty years from now, and I— He’s like a little brother to me, you know? I just want to see him happy.”

Before Misha can answer, Jared has skipped his way back to the table, and all he can do is force a smile and nod through the recurring guilt as his lover cuddles him cheerfully.

He knows, he knows, all that Jensen has said about Jared is true, and he doesn’t want to hurt Jared any more than Jensen wants to see his best friend hurt. And yet… What can he do now to spare Jared the inevitable pain?

If only the world were a much different place.

Misha scatters candied orange peel and toasted cashews onto an extra large foil-lined baking pan, lost in thought. Jared dropped him off at the apartment before heading with Jensen to their friend’s bar for their weekly night out, and Jensen seemed to approve of his opting to head back instead. He hopes Jared doesn’t get too drunk, or at least that he isn’t a talkative drunk. Truth be told, he’d love to see drunk Jared (it promises to be entertaining), but there could be dangerous consequences now.

Nibbling on some orange peel as he works, Misha melts four pounds of salted butter in a large pot. Jared makes the best candied orange peel — never too sweet and flavored with brandy and spices for an extra kick. Clipping on the candy thermometer, he carefully stirs in the muscovado sugar and tastes the mixture when it’s fully dissolved, adjusting with some molasses and fleur de sel till he thinks it’s the perfect balance of sweet and salty. When the thermometer reads 270, he turns the stove off and pours the creamy brown mixture into the well-sprayed pan.

He has seen Jared make this before, and it’s quite possibly his favourite out of all the fabulous homemade candy the confectioner has ever whipped up.

He’s just finished washing the pot when he gets his wish — Jared stumbles in, red in the face and giggly. The Konu does manage to lock the door behind him (after a slurred goodbye to Jensen), however, so perhaps he’s not _too_ wasted.

“Mi~sha~” the other mumbles, peppering the Chatri’s face with sloppy kisses and sliding his hands under clothes to feel up bare skin as Misha guides him into their now shared bedroom — nope, quite utterly gone. “Mi~sha~” He squeezes Misha’s ass as they reach the bed, and the smaller man tries valiantly to divest him of some outerwear and make sure he ends up on the bed instead of the floor. “My Mi~sha~”

Overbalancing, they end up falling haphazardly onto the bed in a sprawl of limbs. “Oof.”

“Mi~sha~” Jared shifts, but only enough so his head is pillowed on Misha’s belly, and Misha sighs in longsuffering resignation as Jared curls up and settles in, a stupidly happy smile on his sleeping face. “Mi~sha~” The Konu’s arms slip loosely around his leg, finding one hand and lacing their fingers. “I love my Misha~”

Misha tangles the fingers of his free hand in Jared’s luxurious hair and lies still, wishing he’d never have to leave. The sight of Jared’s smitten contentment fills his heart to bursting, and it’s hard to breathe. Hope, he tells himself. This is hope for their people.

But more than that, he wants forever.


	6. Chapter 5: Marseillotes

The apartment is quiet when Jared returns from his opening shift at the shop. It’s almost two in the afternoon, and Misha is usually cleaning industriously at this time, but no one answers his usual greeting, and worry has him running to their room. He’s somewhat relieved Misha hasn’t vanished, but it’s clear something is very wrong.

Misha has never been a late riser — now, he’s curled up in a fetal position, shivering beneath the thinnest sheet, skin clammy with cold sweat. His llama pajamas are strewn all over the floor, as if carelessly discarded, and the sheets are soaked with perspiration. Jared hurries over, sitting on the bed to lean closer.

“Misha?”

The Chatri stirs, cracks open a bloodshot blue eye. “J—Jare…” His voice is hoarse, his lips parched and cracking.

“Let me get you some water.”

Jared runs to the kitchen, fetches a large glass of water from the dispenser, and rushes back. He props his lover up in his arms to press the rim of the glass to Misha’s lips and tilt it, letting Misha sip the water slowly. The Chatri’s skin is feverishly hot, and Misha leans bonelessly into him while drinking.

“How are you feeling?”

“Awful.” A little less hoarse than before, now that he’s drained the glass.

He sets the glass down on the bedside table. “I need more information than that to get you medicine.”

Misha shakes his head wearily. “I’m not sick.”

“Mish—”

“No.” The Chatri curls into him, starts working on his belt buckle. “I need you. I’m not sick.”

As much as he enjoys sex with Misha, he tries to disentangle himself and lay Misha back down on the bed. “You need to rest.”

“No,” Misha repeats, latching onto him with surprising strength. “I’m not sick. Jared, please.”

“C’mon, don’t b—”

The Chatri grabs his hand and guides it down. Misha is hard, and the brush of his hand has his lover keening and kissing him hungrily. He responds, of course, but something’s different.

“You— You’re in heat?” he gasps, eyes wide, as it finally hits him.

Misha snorts softly — it comes out like a sniffle. “Took you long enough.”

This isn’t something Jared’s had to deal with (the Konu don’t have heat cycles anymore, at least not outside the Order of Bau), but he thinks he gets the idea.

He shucks his clothes as quickly as possible. “Is there anything specific? Or do I just—”

“I need to be completely spent.” Before he can ask, Misha adds, “And I think it’s pheromones or something — it doesn’t work without a partner.”

Oh. “Well, that’s easy enough.”

He grins, and the other makes a sound like ‘hmph’ before he kisses Misha hard. Misha likes kissing, responds with ardor, hips jerking as fingers circle his entrance teasingly, coming with a whimper when one presses in. Laying Misha out on the bed, he mouths his way down a lean torso to lap up the other’s seed. The Chatri’s fingers tangle in his hair, tugging lightly, trace the shape of his ears — Misha seems a little livelier now.

Dipping his head a little further, he takes Misha all the way in, relaxing his throat, and hollows his cheeks, lets Misha hook both legs over his shoulders to pull him nearer. Misha moans like he’s desperate for it, fingers tightening almost painfully in Jared’s hair, and when Jared swipes his thumb behind his lover’s balls and hums, Misha arches off the bed with a sharp cry as he spills again.

Then he’s pulling Jared up for another kiss, nails— no, claws raking lightly over his back, and he hasn’t seen Misha’s claws since that first day. He catches Misha’s hand, purses his lips around a clawed finger, lets the sharp curved claw graze his tongue as it swirls around the digit. The other meets his eyes with a half-smile, rolls them over to lie atop him and applies his claws to Jared’s nipples. The sensation is new, intense, goes straight down — reminds him he’s been neglected long enough.

“Can you come untouched?” Misha purrs, running his scratchy tongue over the nipple he isn’t worrying with his clawed fingers. He moves his hand to scratch lightly behind white ears, so Jared can speak.

“Ahh, I—I don’t know. I didn’t even know the Chatri still have heat cycles.” Misha tenses, stills, and drops his gaze, and Jared hastily adds, “Uh… I don’t mean that’s a bad thing.”

“Oh no,” Misha agrees quietly. “It sucks. I hate it. I always wished I was like the others who don’t get it anymore.”

“So if the other Chatri d—” Jared gapes at the sinking realization. “You’re from the Order of Bast?”

The history books do, at least, include that the Chatri and Konu have similar religious ideas — those of their race who most retain their ancestral traits are considered Chosen by the Mother Goddess and are quickly taken into the respective Orders.

Misha sighs, flopping down on him. “Out of the bag, I suppose. Yes, I’m the High Priest of the Order of Bast. You see now why I cannot even run away with you, though I want to, more than anything.”

“Th—the High Priest?” he squeaks. “Oh Bau, you can’t be serious.” His voice drops to a hushed whisper. “Mish, what a— Are you out of your mind?!”

The Chatri chuckles wryly. “Yeah. Yeah, the others said so too. They tried everything to keep me from coming here. They just uh… failed.”

“Oh Bau, Mish, if you’re caught, they won’t just kill you. You know that.” He cups the Chatri’s face in his hands. “How could you risk it? You said— You said you knew y— it was too late.”

Clawed hands cover his own. “I told you. I didn’t want to believe it. And I— Well.” Blue eyes slide shut resignedly. “You could get a huge reward for turning me in, you know. They’ll probably even ignore how long you sheltered me before that.”

Jared scowls, tightening his hold. “Are you really saying this now?”

Misha smiles, squeezing his hands. “Just thought I’d remind you that there’s an escape from high treason yet.”

The Konu pulls him into a tight hug. “Don’t be silly, Mish. I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll leave the city as soon as it’s warm. I’ll help you, but we need a plan.”

The Chatri snuggles close, nips at floppy ears. “First, I need to get better.” He flicks at a nipple with a claw, rocks his hips into Jared’s. Their cocks slide together, and the spines add an extra layer of delicious friction. “And you need to join in the fun.”

Jared squirms, kisses him on the forehead. “Nngh, whatever would I do without you?”

It feels like the days are too swiftly getting warmer, like the snow is melting too soon. Misha used to love spring, but now all he feels is dread.

Jared tries to spend more and more time with him, and he’s only too happy to make the most of their remaining time, to do everything they can together. And whenever they’re apart, he knits. He knits because it keeps him from focusing on his growing anxiety. He knits and finishes Mark’s sweater, Jensen’s gloves, and then he starts knitting Jared a surprise gift.

Their days are spent mostly in the kitchen, cooking and making candy. Their nights are spent in each other’s arms, talking and making love. And every day, Jared will insist on discussing an escape plan for him. He’s grateful, he really is, but he also resents it — he doesn’t want to leave. He has to, of course, and he knows that, but he doesn’t want to.

So he’s glad when Jared comes in tonight with a recipe book instead.

“Look! I just found this recipe!”

He is shown a full-page close-up photo of small candy cubes that look to be covered in cocoa powder. “Marseillotes,” he reads the header on the opposite page.

Jared slides under the covers next to him. “I’ve been wanting to make it since I tried it in Goschen many years ago. It’s like spiced honey nougat with candied orange peel and almonds covered in cocoa powder.”

He smiles, settling into Jared’s side. “That sounds delicious.”

“It also just gave me an idea. I’d have to buy the spices and nuts I need in Lupiska, and I might as well buy my shop’s supply for the next few months while I’m at it. Then I’d need to make more candied orange peel for the year, and that means driving my truck back to Sobacca to pick some good oranges up.” He turns to Misha and takes his hands, excitement building. “If I hide you in a crate among the crates of nuts and spices, your scent won’t be detected. The drive to Sobacca will give us the excuse we need to cross the border, and if we do it at peak hour, they won’t hold up traffic with a thorough inspection. What do you think?”

Misha thinks it’s possibly the best plan Jared’s come up with so far, and he highly doubts the guards would ever expect a fellow Konu to help a Chatri escape, which makes it very feasible.

And that’s exactly what he hates about it.

A viable plan means he’s run out of excuses to stay.

He looks down to hide the sinking of his heart. “I—I think it could work,” he answers, but his voice cracks, and Jared is pulling him into a fierce hug before he can say another word.

“Oh Bau, Mish, I am so sorry. I don’t— I don’t want you to leave any more than you want to go, all right? Don’t think that.” Familiar fingers rub soothing circles into his scalp. “I just— I’m worried, Mish. I’m so scared that you’ll be caught. I’m terrified of what the government might do to you if you are. And I’m not saying anything’s changed or we need to escape anytime soon. I just want to have a good plan ready for when we do. Don’t be upset?”

He shakes his head. He understands, of course. Jared’s just trying to keep him safe. And Bast knows he’s thankful, but he’s happier pretending these days will never end.

“I’m sorry,” Jared says again, and he only shakes his head more emphatically, not trusting his voice to speak.

They slide down to stretch out on the bed and cling to each other tightly. If only they could remain forever, together just like this, and never have to worry about the world beyond these four walls. _If only._ Now that Jared’s thought it up, the plan seems so simple, and he wishes the idea had occurred to them over three months ago, so they could spare themselves all this heartbreak.

“I’d hide you forever if I have to, if I could,” Jared adds softly, and he nods.

“I know,” he manages at last and means it. “Thank you. I’d let you if I could.”

They don’t talk about it again, not even after snow has turned to rain, and green has come back to the bare ground and trees. And it’s not till Jensen comes over on his usual Thursday night and asks why Misha is still wearing a hat indoors when it’s so warm now that they acknowledge it’s too dangerous for him to stay any longer, and he really needs to leave.

It’s a quarter past five in the evening when Jared crosses the border. The traffic is massive, thanks to all the people who commute to Chi’an for work from all the nearby small towns, and the inspection of his small truck is, as expected, cursory.

He’s a lot more concerned about how Misha is faring back there under the crates of cinnamon, anise and various nuts. People have ridden in the back of his truck before, and the crates are well-vented, though, so it should be fine.

He drives as quickly as is safe and legal towards his hometown of Sobacca, the City of Orangeries, where he’s to pick up some local oranges for the Marseillotes, before turning off the main road into a small lane through the countryside that leads to Koira, a city about twice as far away from Chi’an as Sobacca.

It’s another hour’s drive before he reaches the forest and stops on the side of the deserted road. Misha said Gatoux is somewhere through this forest, by the river Wafen at the base of Mount Sekhrir, and this is the closest Jared can take him by car.

He quickly kills the engine and swings out of his truck to run to the back, unlock it and climb in. Not even Konu noses can smell anything under the overwhelming aromas of anise and cinnamon, and enough of them are allergic to nuts that few are willing to try.

There are definitely benefits to running a candy store that Jared has never thought of before.

He shifts some crates around to uncover the slightly bigger one he’s packed his stowaway in. It’s not sealed, and he lifts the lid, hoping Misha’s okay.

“Mish? You okay? We’re here.”

The other is covered in sweat, but doesn’t otherwise look too much the worse for wear. Blue eyes blink up at him in the darkness.

“I think I’m all cramped up from lying still for so long. You might have to help me.”

Jared doesn’t hesitate to lift him out of the crate and lean him against the side by the door, adjusting the Chatri’s hood just in case. It’s dark now, but they shouldn’t take any risks. He rearranges some of the crates to give them more space before returning to Misha’s side. The other is moving his limbs slowly, trying to get the circulation back into them.

“Water?”

Misha nods, and he jogs to the front to fetch him a bottle. The other takes it gratefully and drinks, careful not to go too fast, and Jared sits down beside him, rubs his legs to help.

They don’t talk — it’s too painful.

Their time is up, but that’s the last thing they want to think about, so the silence wears on.

At length, it gets to be too much, and they begin speaking at once.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll miss you.”

They freeze.

Then Jared shakes his head, pulling his lover into a hug. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Misha buries his face in Jared’s chest. “I’ll miss you, too.”

“You sure you won’t run away with me? The offer still stands,” Jared says hopefully, and his heart breaks when Misha sobs. If only Misha could be selfish, but that’s not what he fell for.

That doesn’t mean he ever stopped hoping though.

“I want to,” Misha chokes out. “Jared, I—”

“Shh,” he mumbles, tries to soothe. “I know. I’m not going to say it’s okay, but I get it.”

“Maybe one day— No, I don’t know. I’ve hurt you enough. I won’t give you any false hopes. The truth is, you probably won’t see me again.”

“Mish—”

“It’s true. A part of me wants to tell you to wait, to come back here next year to meet me and maybe we can run away together then, but that’s not fair. To either of us.”

Jared cups his cheeks, lifts his tearstained face to look into blue eyes. “It’s not always about being fair, Mish. If you’re sure, I can wait.”

“That’s just it!” Misha’s fists ball in his shirt in frustration. “I’m _not_ sure, Jare! I don’t know how long it’ll take to train the acolytes and choose a successor. And I don’t want you to wait years — _years,_ Jared, not months, not days— because I don’t even know what’s going to happen tomorrow, and four months has just changed my life forever!”

The other’s large hands fall away. “I won’t forget you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No.” Misha’s voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t want that.” He presses their foreheads together and squeezes his eyes shut. “Move on, Jare; don’t wait, but don’t forget.”

They wrap their arms around each other — it feels warm, perfect, and he allows himself to imagine what it’d be like to have this for the rest of his days.

They’d build their own house by some river far away, grow or rear their own food, knit or sew their own clothes. They’d have hens and rabbits, maybe a few cows or sheep, and a small vegetable garden. It wouldn’t be too different from life in Gatoux, really. Jared would have to sell his shop, but he’d still make what candies he can and drive off to a town to sell them occasionally, perhaps, and Misha could knit some small pieces to sell with them.

It’d be nice, idyllic… maybe boring without the city’s entertainment, lonely sometimes without their family and friends. But they’d have each other, and it’s not like they’d have much spare time between all the work they’d have to do everyday. And one day, when they get too old to chop firewood or plow the garden or fetch buckets of water from the river without help… No, they probably won’t get that far — life expectancy in Gatoux is only about sixty years.

Even so, ten, twenty years from now, would they still think it was worth giving everything up to be together? They’d love each other still, he believes that much, but would that alone be worth all the sacrifices they would have made? And what if one of them outlives the other? If they run away now, there would be no turning back, and one day, Jared might end up all alone in an empty house in the middle of nowhere.

No, even forgetting the Order, running away would be irresponsible. He can’t do that to Jared.

“I can’t run away with you,” he says softly, shifting to meet Jared’s eyes once more, “but I’ll never forget the hope you’ve shown me. I want to believe that, one day, we won’t have to run and hide. I want to teach my people that peace has to start somewhere, that maybe we can’t change others, but we _can_ change ourselves. One day, I hope you can come to Gatoux, and we Chatri will welcome you as an equal, as a friend. So I won’t run away, and I won’t ask you to wait because maybe it’ll take years; maybe it’ll take a lifetime. But someday, if— no, _when_ I send word, I hope you will make the trip, even if it’s decades away. Someday, I hope you will let me show you how much these four months really meant to me.”

There’s a pause, then Jared turns his head, baring his neck. “Then leave me this much.”

Misha bows his head, bites his bottom lip. “Jared, it’ll only hurt more. Don’t make this worse.”

“I know. But I want to know if it’s possible. I want to feel it even if it isn’t. To remind me of this promise. To remind me that there’s hope.”

 _Oh Bast._ “All right.” He takes a steadying breath. “All right.” He tilts his head up and bites.

Jared’s breath hitches, but it doesn’t feel like others have described. It’s intimate, affirming, but he can’t… feel Jared’s presence at the back of his mind like mated pairs say he’s supposed to — they’re different, after all.

“It doesn’t work that way, does it?” he murmurs, licking the small cuts left by his teeth.

“No,” Jared confirms, “But it feels right.” He presses a kiss to Misha’s temple. “I like it.”

Misha pushes back his hood, turning to offer the back of his neck. It’s _their_ promise, after all — no matter what happens, he won’t let Jared do this alone. “My turn.”

Jared doesn’t hesitate, kisses the spot lightly before sinking his teeth in, and as the strength leaves his body, although no mating bond forms, Misha concurs — it feels right.

“Will you stay till daybreak?” Jared asks softly, lapping up what little blood he’s drawn.

“Of course.” Misha smiles because goodbye is painful enough as it is. “This kinda makes tonight our wedding night, doesn’t it?”

His mate’s response is halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

He curls into Jared, laces their fingers. “I wish it could be more of a celebration.”

He hears the other swallow thickly, feels the shuddering breath. “I uh… I made your favourite butterscotch candy and oatmeal ginger cookies in case you get hungry on your walk back, but we could probably have the candy now.”

“Let’s,” he agrees. “It’s the best we can do without a bottle of wine.”

As Jared goes to get it from the front, he pulls out the towels Jared used to pad his crate and folds them into makeshift pillows, so they can both rest their heads. When Jared returns with the bag of food, he holds out his arms, and his mate lies down beside him. They kiss, first slow and heartfelt, then fast and desperate — a vow and a farewell.

“Butterscotch?” Jared offers when they part for air, holding out the bag.

“Mm.” He holds a piece between his teeth. “Together.”

Jared obliges, biting off half and capturing his lips once more. Misha presses close, pushes fabric out of the way to feel skin on skin, and the food is all but forgotten.

When dawn breaks, Misha doesn’t wake Jared — he can’t bear to say another goodbye. He can’t even bear to look back as he walks into the forest.

Instead, he leaves his farewell gift beside Jared in the truck — a red cushion cover with a white dog and an orange cat seated side by side over the words “I love you.”

He’s going home, finally, but it really feels like he’s leaving it instead.


	7. Epilogue

Jared parks the truck outside the forest like the last time and quickly runs to the back to let the Chatri (“The name’s Matt,” he said) out. He remembers this so clearly from five years ago. So little has changed since then. The cushion cover he found beside him when he woke up alone that morning is a permanent feature on his bed — he only hides its cushion in his wardrobe when he has visitors. Someday, he hopes it will no longer be contraband.

He lets Matt rest and stretch a bit, then they grab their backpacks, he locks his truck, and they set off into the cover of trees. This is a first — he’s never been inside a forest. The underbrush is dense, and it’s almost dark here only in the waning daylight.

They need to hurry.

As Matt leads him down what appear to be carefully memorized paths, he prays he will reach Misha in time. Matt told him Misha is very sick, and he bought some medicine based on the symptoms described, but that won’t mean anything if he’s too late.

“It’s not far now, so I should warn you,” the Chatri says after about an hour of mostly silent walking. “Not everyone will welcome you.”

He nods, staying close. “That’s more than I can say for my home.”

“H— Misha has spent the last five years teaching us to make peace with your people even as he trained his successors. He always spoke highly of you, how he never would have survived and escaped without your help. But there are many who think you cursed him, that he’s dying because of something you did.”

Jared shakes his head. “If I had that kind of power, Misha wouldn’t have had to leave.”

Matt chuckles. “I don’t believe in such nonsense, of course, and I know love when I see it, but I also know that the day when our peoples can coexist in peace once more is still far away and not only because the Konu are still shooting Chatri on sight.”

“I asked people, over the last five years, why they hate the Chatri, and many say they lost friends and family in the war. Many of your people could probably say the same, so I understand — peace isn’t easy in the wake of loss, in the face of anger, in the sea of negative propaganda being thrown at us, and yet… Sometimes I think if I were in a position like Misha’s, perhaps I could make more of a difference. There are some Konu who haven’t even heard the word ‘Chatri’ before, and if I were someone that they’d listen to, maybe I could show them a different perspective.” He smiles wistfully, adjusts the weight of the heavy backpack on his shoulders. “Then again, if I had been in a position like Misha’s, we never would have met, and maybe I wouldn’t feel the same way I do today. Do you think… if I were Chatri or Misha were Konu, would we have met and loved each other just the same?”

The other drinks some water before answering, “Perhaps, if Misha were Konu, and you met, you could be free. But if you were Chatri, it would have been forbidden anyway until a new High Priest was Chosen, and perhaps even then, Misha would first need to sire a child to ensure the continuity of his Chosen bloodline before he could finally live as he pleased.”

“It is the same as the Order of Bau then,” he muses before they fall back into contemplative silence, and even the crunch of their boots on the ground blends into the sounds of the forest.

“I should thank you,” Matt pipes up at length. “I don’t know how important the Order of Bau is to the Konu anymore, but for us, the Order of Bast isn’t merely a religious institution — it’s a cornerstone of Chatri leadership, and the High Priest of Bast is far more important to our society than he seems. When winter came, we thought His Grace forever lost to us, but Misha— he told us you gave him food, clothing and shelter the first day you met, even though you knew he was Chatri, that you knowingly risked your own safety sharing your home with him for the winter. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for returning him to us.”

Jared ducks his head, embarrassed. “I—It’s nothing so noble. A homeless man returned my keys, I invited him in for dinner, which is when I realized he’s hot, so I spent all night hitting on him — did he mention that part? Finding out he wasn’t Konu didn’t make him less attractive, so I convinced him to let me spend all season trying to get into his pants. Then he turned out to be kind and fun and all-around amazing, so I fell in love, yeah, but the point is, I didn’t have anything to do with him being gorgeous and wonderful.”

The Chatri laughs heartily. “You know, I get it. I mean, it’s Misha. Thing is, according to him, if you’d tried just a little harder that first week, he’d’ve jumped you, all good sense be damned. And I get it.” He waggles his eyebrows, eyeing Jared from top to toe. “I mean, I’d tap Misha for sure, but I’d definitely have tried my best to get into your pants too if you’d shown up at my house, and your being Konu wouldn’t have stopped me.”

The open appraisal makes him blush, and he tugs the beanie Misha knitted for him a little lower. When Matt took off the trench coat in his apartment that night after closing, he’d had a good look at a handsome face and incredibly fit body — perfectly defined like every line had been artfully chiseled by a professional sculptor. It makes him self-conscious, and he wonders if it's a Chatri thing, if he’s about to walk into a village full of beautiful people.

“Still, you looked at Misha and saw a person, not a species. That’s a choice, and that’s important. Maybe, one day, we will all make that choice — Misha certainly believes it. Anyway, we’re here,” his guide says, indicating the end of the trees.

In the clearing beyond, he can see many wooden houses lit by lamps and torches in the deepening night. Each one is a little different, and he remembers what Misha told him before — they built these houses, log by log, plank by plank, with their own hands. By every house, there are enclosures for animals and some space for a garden — this provides most of the household’s food. Behind the village, Mount Sekhrir rises up into the darkening sky, and in the distance, he can hear the rush of the river Wafen that flows out into the sea through Sobacca at its base. There’s the sound of activity, but it’s muted, like a somber cloud has settled over the village, and Jared is pretty sure he knows why.

“They won’t attack you,” Matt assures him, misunderstanding the pause in his step. “Misha outlawed it, saying anyone, even Konu, who comes in good faith cannot be harmed. His Grace is well loved here, so no matter how they feel personally, they will respect his wishes.”

“No,” Jared replies as he resumes walking. “I was just remembering what Misha told me before. He knows how to do everything —cook, bake, clean, sew, knit, garden, even fix the furniture— because that’s what it takes to live out here. I admire what you’ve built here, starting over from scratch. Looking at your village makes me feel so helpless — I can’t even fix my own drawer, and anything I can cook today that isn’t candy I learned from Misha.”

“He says you make the best candy in the world though.” Matt pats him on the shoulder. “So don’t feel too bad.”

Following Matt past houses, he tries to ignore the stares and whispers as he passes windows. He’s sure everyone knows everyone else here, and hiding his ears doesn’t make him any less obviously a foreigner. They stop at a house near the center of the village, the only one with a guard outside the door as far as he can tell. Matt whispers something to the sentry, then they step aside and motion for him to go in.

He has to bend down to get through the door, and the dark-haired Chatri lady adding a log to the stone hearth only nods at him before dusting off her hands and leaving. It’s a small house with no rooms. The only window is opposite the door, and there’s a table with some chairs in the corner to the left. The upper left corner is the kitchen, the corner to the right has some cupboards and drawers, presumably for clothes, and in the far right corner, there’s a bed with a nightstand and a chair beside it. Jared recognizes the coppery orange ears amid the bundle of blankets and steps closer, circling the hearth in the center.

Suddenly, the bundle stirs, and Misha lifts his head, sniffing the air with effort. “J—Jared? I—Is that— Is that really you?”

Clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle his sob, he rushes over to support the back of the Chatri’s neck with his free hand, sitting down and setting his backpack on the floor.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “I’ve missed you, Mish,” but he chokes anyway, and Misha is reaching for his cheeks before he even realizes the tears are there. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Blue eyes are blank and unseeing, and he has to guide searching hands to his face, cold as the night they met. The bundle on the bed is more blanket than Misha, the handsome face he remembers is drawn and haggard now, and the other’s voice earlier was so weak.

“I’ve missed you, too, Jare.”

Before they can say any more, there’s some commotion outside, and a furious voice says, “How dare you? How dare you bring that dog here when H—”

“His Grace asked me to,” Matt cuts in sharply, “so I have. Now, if…” The voices fade out of hearing, and a sniffle makes Jared turn back to Misha, to the look of regret.

“I’m sorry. Perhaps, if I’d had just a few more years…”

“No.” He gathers Misha into his arms, blankets and all — the other feels almost weightless on his lap now, frighteningly frail. “No. It’s enough to be here, to see you again, to know that you’ve kept me in your thoughts all these years, as I’ve kept you in mine.”

Misha snuggles closer, rests his head on Jared’s shoulder and nuzzles his neck. “Oh Jare, I told Matt not to risk it, but I’m grateful. I’m glad you’re here. I would have deeply regretted never seeing you again.”

“No.” Jared reaches for his backpack, for the box of autoinjectors in the side pocket. “No, no, no. Don’t talk like you’re going to die, Mish; don’t you dare. Matt told me what you have, and I brought you medicine.” He takes one out and unseals it. “You’re going to be okay, a—”

“No.” Misha coughs weakly, pushing his arm away. “I’m an old cat, Jare, and I’ve lived a hard life. I know my time is up — I can feel it. Save it for someone who has a chance.”

“No, no, please. I’ll come again; I’ll bring as much medicine as this village needs, okay? But please. Don’t tell me you’ve given up, Mish, that I’ve come all this way just to watch you die.” He jabs the needle into the other’s arm as the pharmacist instructed when he bought it. “Misha, please, just try? For me. Promise me you’ll fight.”

Misha winces in pain, but nods, just barely. “For you.”

“Yeah.” He kisses the Chatri’s forehead, sets the empty autoinjector aside. “Yeah, that’s good. Stay with me, Mish. I can’t change the world, but I can take care of you. So let me. Give me a chance. I won’t let you go again.”

“Mm. I’ll run away with you this time.” He scratches Misha’s chin lightly, and the Chatri smiles, content.

“Guess what else I brought?” Fishing an insulated container out of his backpack, he opens it.

Misha immediately seems to brighten despite coughing again. “Oh, you do love me, Jare.”

It’s Mark’s seafood stew. He stopped to grab two servings on his way to the border.

“It’s the one thing I missed in Chi’an besides you.”

He grins. “Let me get you a spoon.”

Laying Misha back down on the bed, he sets the stew on the nightstand before fetching a wooden spoon from the kitchen. Then he slides into bed beside the other, sitting with his back to the wall, so Misha can sit leaning against him. Carefully, he feeds Misha, checking for fish bones just in case and making sure to avoid the shells. Slowly, Misha finishes it with a happy sigh, and he puts the container away.

“Thank you.” Another cough. “It’s as good as I remember. I thought I’d never taste it again.”

“I’ll be sure to let Mark know.” He presses a kiss into Misha’s crown. “He loves the sweater you made, you know, says you spoiled him. He was so sad to hear you were gone.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That I came home from Sobacca to find you gone, that I don’t know what happened or why you left, but I’m sure it’s not a missing person’s case because all your things were gone too.” He chuckles wryly. “Jensen was so mad — I was a mess for a few weeks.”

“I’m sorry,” Misha says again, and he sounds even weaker, exhausted.

He shakes his head, sliding forward, so they can lie down. “Don’t. I told you this five years ago — you have nothing to apologize for.”

He strokes the base of Misha’s ears, holding the other close enough to feel the steady but shallow rise and fall of a bony chest. He knows he needs to let Misha sleep, but he’s so afraid Misha won’t wake up.

_Bau, no._ “Hey,” he murmurs, quiet in case Misha has already drifted off.

“Hm?”

“Is it… Is it true that the Chatri have nine lives?” He feels silly for asking, but he can hope.

“I don’t know. Is it true that all the Konu go to Heaven?” Misha counters sleepily.

“I don’t know, but I’m not going anywhere without you,” he declares fiercely, lacing their fingers. “I just said I won’t let you go again.”

“Mm.” Misha curls into him. “If I do have nine lives, I’ll spend the rest of them with you.”

“No, no. Promise you won’t move on to the next one without me,” he insists.

“Okay.” Misha kisses Jared where he can reach without moving — his jaw. “I promise.”

They fall silent then, and Jared lets Misha sleep. He loves. He has to believe.

He’ll be there when Misha wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the story.
> 
> I appreciate feedback of literally any kind, so let me know what you think of it!


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